UC-NRLF 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA. 


GIFT  OF 


WILLIAM  OILMAN  THOMPSON. 


SONGS   OF   SUMMER 


BY 
RICHARD     HENRY     STODDARD 


"  When  I  walk  by  myself  alone 
It  doth  me  good  my  songs  to  render." 

OLD  PLAY. 


BOSTON 
TICKNOR    AND    FIELDS 

M  DCCC  LVII 


Entered  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1856,  by 

RICHARD  H.  STODDARD, 

In  the  Clerk's  Office  of  the  District  Court  of  the  District  of 
Massachusetts. 


Riverside,    Cambridge, 
Printed  by  H.  O.  HOUGHTON  &  Co. 


TO   GEORGE    H.    BOKER. 


Not  mine  the  tragic  poet's  art, 
His  empire  of  the  human  heart : 
"That  "world  is  shut  from  me, 
But  you  possess  the  key. 

I  see  you  in  your  fwide  domain, 
Surrounded  by  a  stately  train, 

'That  lived,  and  died  of  yore : 
But  now  they  die  no  more  ! 

The  Moor  Calaynos :  Anne  Boleyn  : 
The  Guzman  and  the  cruel  queen ; 
And  that  unhappy  Pair 
That  fioat  in  Hell 's  murk  air  ! 

Anon  your  bitter  Fool  appears, 
Masking  in  mirth  his  cynic  sneers  ; 
We  hear  his  bells,  and  smile, 
But  long  to  <weep  the  'while. 


DEDICATION. 

A  narrower  range  to  me  belongs, 
A  little  land  of  summer  songs, 
A  realm  of  thought  apart 
From  all  that  'wrings  the  heart. 

To  <iuin  you  to  my  small  estate, 
Old  friend,  I  greet  you  at  the  gate, 
And  from  its  fairest  bower 
Bring  you  this  simple  flower. 


CONTENTS. 
I. 

PAGE 

"  There  are  gains  for  all  our  losses." 5 

"  Thy  father  is  a  king,  my  child." 6 

"A  few  frail  summers  had  touched  thee." 7 

The  Song  of  the  Syrens 8 

"  Range  yourselves,  my  merry  men." 9 

The  Sea i  ° 

The  Shadow  of  the  Hand 1 1 

The  Speech  of  Love 12 

"  You  may  drink  to  your  leman  in  gold." 13 

The   Sea 14 

Birds 15 

The  Lost  Lamb 16 

The  Sea J7 

"  The  sky  is  a  drinking  cup." 1 8 

On  the  Pier 19 

«*  Spring,  they  tell  me,  comes  in  bloom." 20 

"  The  gray  old  Earth  goes  on." 21 

"  There  is  no  sin  to  hearts  that  love." 22 

The  King  muses 24 

The  Divan 25 

The  Tress  of  Brown  Hair  to  the  Poet 26 

"  The  sky  is  thick  upon  the  sea." 27 


VI  CONTENTS. 

PAGE 

The  Falcon 28 

Day  and   Night 29 

The   Dead 30 

The  Sea 31 

"  Many's  the  time  I've  sighed  for  summer." 32 

The  Gipsy  Toad 33 

A  Serenade 34 

"  The  house  is  dark  and  dreary." 35 

"  The  Phantom  that  walks  in  the  sun." 36 

Were  I  a  Bird 37 

The  Night  before  the  Bridal 39 

"  Dim  grows  the  sky  and  dusk  the  air." 40 

Summer   and   Autumn 41 

The  Helmet 42 

Roses  and  Thorns 43 

"  Beneath  the  heavy  curtains." 44 

"  Rattle  the  window,  winds  !  " 45 

The  Veiled  Statue 46 

Dead  Leaves 48 

•"  Poems  of  the  Orient. " 49 

The  Demon  of  Music 50 

The  Sea ^  r 

"  My  only  dreams  are  waking  dreams." 52 

At  Rest 53 

"  Wrecks  of  clouds  of  a  sombre  gray." 54 

"  No !  I  will  not  leave  you,  Madam." 55 

The  Shadow ^6 

November ; r* 

The  First  Snow ^g 

"  Buried  in  Songs  that  never  yet  were  sung." 60 


CONTENTS.  vii 

ii. 

Carmen  Nature  Triumphale 65 

Invocation  to  Sleep go 

The  Stork  and  the  Ruby 83 

"  We  are  bent  with  age  and  cares." 87 

Pain  in  A  utumn 89 

The  Abdication  of  Noman,  the  Elder 92 

The  Moon  on  the  Spire 103 

The  Grave  of  Robin  Hood 105 

The  Children's  Prayer 1 12 

Stanzas z !  6 

"  By  the  margent  of  the  sea." 1 1 8 

Choric  Hymn I2z 

The  Fisher  and  Charon 126 

Great  and  Small I4o 

The  Poplar 143 

Miserrimus l^ 

The  Old  Mill ,4? 

The  Squire  of  Low  Degree 149 

Imogen 1(>O 

The  Flamingo 1 64 

The  Serenade  of  Ma-Han-Shan 166 

The  Sledge  at  the  Gate 168 

The  Grape  Gatherer I7o 

Sicilian  Pastoral !  7  2 

"  We  parted  in  the  streets  of  Ispahan." 174 

The  Search  for  Persephone 175 

The  Burden  of  Unrest 193 

"  I  lay  his  picture  on  my  knee." 224 


SONGS     OF     SUMMER 


I. 


"  Songs  are  like  painted  window  panes. 
In  darkness  wrapt  the  church  remains, 
If  from  the  market  place  we  view  it ; 
"Thus  sees  the  ignoramus  through  it. 
No  <wonder  that  he  deems  it  tame, 
And  all  his  life  "'twill  be  the  same. 

"  Rut  let  us  now)  inside  repair, 

And  greet  the  holy  chapel  there : 

At  once  the  'whole  seems  clear  and  bright, 

Each  ornantent  is  bathed  in  light, 

And  fraught  with  meaning  to  the  sight. 

God"1*  children!  thus  your  fortune  prize, 

B£  edified,  and  feaft your  eyes." 

GOETHE. 


SONGS    OF    SUMMER. 


THERE  are  gains  for  all  our  losses, 

There  are  balms  for  all  our  pain  : 
But  when  youth,  the  dream,  departs, 
It  takes  something  from  our  hearts, 
And  it  never  comes  again. 

We  are  ftronger,  and  are  better, 

Under  manhood's  fterner  reign  : 
Still  we  feel  that  something  sweet 
Followed  youth,  with  flying  feet, 
And  will  never  come  again. 

Something  beautiful  is  vanifhed, 

And  we  sigh  for  it  in  vain  : 
We  behold  it  everywhere, 
On  the  earth,  and  in  the  air, 
But  it  never  comes  again  ! 


SONGS    OF    SUMMER. 


[BRITAINY.] 

THY  father  is  a  King,  my  child. 

And  thou  a  Prince  by  birth  ; 
But  he  has  banifhed  us  from  court 

To  roam  about  the  earth  : 
But  let  him  be  that  wrongeth  thee, 
For  all  the  holy  angels  see  ; 

Said  patient  pale  Cuftance. 
[u  Peace,  little  son,  I  will  do  thee  no  barm." 
But  ft  ill  the  babe  lay  weeping  on  her  arm.] 

From  door  to  door  we  beg  our  bread, 

From  day  to  day  we  pine, 
While  he  doth  at  his  banquet  sit, 

And  drain  the  cups  of  wine  : 
But  let  him  be,  oh  let  him  be, 
For  God  will  care  for  you  and  me  ; 

Said  patient  pale  Cuflance. 
["  Peace,  little  son,  I  will  do  thee  no  harm." 
But  ftill  the  babe  lay  weeping  on  her  arm.] 


SONGS    OF    SUMMER. 


[ANTIQUE.] 

A  FEW  frail  summers  had  touched  thee, 

As  they  touch  the  fruit ; 
Not  so  bright  as  thy  hair  the  sunfhine, 

Not  so  sweet  as  thy  voice  the  lute  : 
Hufhed  the  voice,  (horn  the  hair ;  all  is  over 

An  urn  of  white  afhes  remains  ; 
Nothing  else,  save  the  tears  in  our  eyes, 

And  our  bitterer!,  bittereft  pains. 

We  garland  the  urn  with  white  roses, 
Burn  incense  and  gums  on  the  mrine, 

Play  old  tunes  with  the  saddeft  of  closes, 
Dear  tunes  that  were  thine  ! 

But  in  vain,  all  in  vain, 

Thou  art  gone  —  we  remain  ! 


SONGS    OF    SUMMER, 


THE   SONG   OF   THE   SYRENS. 

LONG  have  you  buffeted  the  winds, 

And  urged  the  weary  oar : 
Now  you  reach  our  little  isle 
Furl  your  sail,  and  reft  awhile, 

On  the  happy  fhore. 

What  is  here  that  you  fhould  fear  ? 
What  is  there  so  deadly  here  ? 
A  quiet  island  in  the  sea, 

Grass-fringed,  and  fhadowed  deep  with  palms : 

Winds  that  winnow  summer  balms  : 
Flowers  in  each  vale,  and  fruits  on  every  tree ! 
We  weave  flow  dances  in  the  fhade, 

With  lifted  arms  and  floating  hair : 
Or,  when  the  golden  noon  is  come, 
Lift  the  wild-bee's  drowsy  hum, 

Or  watch  the  insects  in  the  air : 

Or  kiss  each  other  on  the  lips, 
And  softly  swoon  away  in  Sleep's  divine  eclipse  ! 

What  is  there  to  fear  in  this  ? 

Where's  the  danger  of  a  kiss  ? 

But,  if  dangerous  it  be, 
It  is  to  maids  like  us,  not  to  men  like  thee ! 


SONGS    OF    SUMMER. 


[ITALY.] 

RANGE  yourselves  my  merry  men, 
And  wake  your  sweeteft  numbers  ; 

My  lady  will  forgive  the  voice 
That  melts  her  silent  (lumbers  : 

For  ladies  liflen  with  delight 

To  music  in  the  summer  night. 

Run  your  hands  across  the  firings, 
Like  the  wind  through  vernal  rains, 

Softly  :  not  of  lovers'  fears, 

Nor  their  idle  rain  of  tears  — 
Sing  serener  ftrains  : 

Sing  the  joy,  the  happy  smart, 

In  a  little  maiden's  heart, 

That  finds  in  dreams  her  lover  dear, 

And  wakes  —  to  find  him  near  ! 


10  SONGS    OF    SUMMER. 


THE   SEA. 

[STORM.] 

THROUGH  the  night,  through  the  night, 

In  the  saddeft  unreft, 
Wrapt  in  white,  all  in  white, 

With  her  babe  on  her  breaft, 
Walks  the  mother  so  pale, 
Staring  out  on  the  gale, 

Through  the  night! 

Through  the  night,  through  the  night, 
Where  the  sea  lifts  the  wreck, 

Land  in  sight,  close  in  sight, 
On  the  surf-flooded  deck, 

Stands  the  father  so  brave, 

Driving  on  to  his  grave, 
Through  the  night ! 


SONGS    OF    SUMMER.  II 


THE    SHADOW   OF   THE    HAND. 

[ITALY.] 

You  were  very  charming,  Madam, 

In  your  silks  and  satins  fine ; 
And  you  made  your  lovers  drunken, 

But  it  was  not  with  your  wine ! 
There  were  court-gallants  in  dozens, 

There  were  princes  of  the  land, 
And  they  would  have  perimed  for  you, 

As  they  knelt  and  kissed  your  hand ; 

For  they  saw  no  ftain  upon  it, 

It  was  such  a  snowy  hand ! 

But  for  me  —  I  knew  you  better, 

And,  while  you  were  flaunting  there, 

I  remembered  some  one  lying 

With  the  blood  on  his  white  hair ! 

He  was  pleading  for  you,  Madam, 
Where  the  shriven  spirits  ftand  : 

But  the  Book  of  Life  was  darkened 
By  the  Shadow  of  a  Hand ! 
//  was  tracing  your  perdition^ 
For  the  blood  upon  your  hand  ! 


12  SONGS    OF    SUMMER. 


THE   SPEECH    OF   LOVE. 

You  afk  me,  love,  to  sing  of  you, 
Dear  heart !  but  what  and  why  ? 
Songs  are  but  sweet  and  fkilful  words, 
That  tinkle  unto  certain  chords, 
And  are  but  born  to  die. 

Words  can  not  {how  my  burning  love, 

My  passion's  secret  fire  : 
I  try  to  speak,  and  make  it  plain, 
About  my  pleasure,  and  my  pain, 

But  song  and  speech  expire. 

There  is  more  eloquence  in  looks, 

More  poesy  in  sighs, 
Than  ever  yet  in  speech  was  framed, 
Or  any  song  of  poet  famed, 

Though  lit  at  ladies'  eyes. 

Then  bid  me  sing  of  love  no  more, 

O  ' 

But  let  me  silent  be  ; 
For  silence  is  the  speech  of  love, 
The  music  of  the  spheres  above, 

That  suits  a  soul  like  thee. 


SONGS    OF    SUMMER. 


You  may  drink  to  your  leman  in  gold, 
In  a  great  golden  goblet  of  wine  ; 

She's  as  ripe  as  the  wine,  and  as  bold 

As  the  glare  of  the  gold  : 

But  this  little  lady  of  mine — 
I  will  not  profane  her  in  wine. 

I  go  where  the  garden  so  ftill  is, 
(The  moon  raining  through,) 

To  pluck  the  white  bowls  of  the  lilies, 
And  drink  her  in  dew! 


SONGS    OF    SUMMER. 


THE    SEA. 

[THE  LOVER.] 

You  ftooped  and  picked  a  wreathed  shell, 

Beside  the  shining  sea : 
"  This  little  shell,  when  I  am  gone, 

Will  whisper  ftill  of  me." 
I  kissed  your  hands,  upon  the  sands, 

For  you  were  kind  to  me ! 

I  hold  the  shell  againft  my  ear, 

And  hear  its  hollow  roar  : 
It  speaks  to  me  about  the  sea, 

But  speaks  of  you  no  more. 
I  pace  the  sands,  and  wring  my  hands, 

For  you  are  kind  no  more ! 


SONGS    OF    SUMMER. 


BIRDS. 

BIRDS  are  singing  round  my  window, 
Tunes  the  sweeteft  ever  heard, 

And  I  hang  my  cage  there  daily, 
But  I  never  catch  a  bird. 

So  with  thoughts  my  brain  is  peopled, 
And  they  sing  there  all  day  long  : 

But  they  will  not  fold  their  pinions 
In  the  little  cage  of  song ! 


1 6  SONGS    OF    SUMMER, 


THE    LOST   LAMB. 

[TARTARY.] 

THE  little  Tartar  maiden 

That  tends  my  mafter's  sheep 

She  makes  a  lamb  her  pillow, 
When  she  lies  down  to  fleep. 

She  parts  her  gray  tent-curtains 
Before  the  morn  is  seen, 

And  drives  our  flocks  together, 
To  paftures  fresh  and  green. 

My  heart  goes  with  the  maiden, 
For  when  I  wake  I  find 

No  heart  within  my  bosom, 
No  happy  peace  of  mind. 

I  track  the  loft  lamb's  footfteps, 
And  find  it  faft  afleep, 

Beside  the  little  maiden 

Among  my  mafter's  sheep. 


SONGS    OF    SUMMER. 


THE    SEA. 

[THE  WIFE.] 

I  PACE  the  sands  from  morn  till  night. 
But  the  sail  I  seek  is  never  in  sight : 
Will  it  ever  come  ?  {hall  I  ever  see 
The  man  so  dear  to  my  babe  and  me  ? 

When  the  fky  is  bright,  and  the  waves  are  calm, 
And  the  warm  wind  flows  like  a  sea  of  balm, 
"  He  lives,"  I  think  ;  «  He  comes  !  "  I  say  : 
But  he  comes  not,  though  I  watch  all  day. 

0  sun  !  my  heart  goes  down  with  thee  ! 
For  who  can  bear  the  night,  and  the  sea  ? 
The  lonely  fky  and  the  moaning  waves — 
They  make  us  think  of  our  sailors'  graves  ! 

1  pace  and  pace  the  desolate  more, 

But  he  comes  no  more,  he  comes  no  more  : 
He  never  will  come  to  my  babe  and  me, 
He  is  loft  in  the  deep  and  cruel  sea ! 


SONGS    OF    SUMMER. 


THE  iky  is  a  drinking  cup, 
That  was  overturned  of  old, 

And  it  pours  in  the  eyes  of  men 
Its  wine  of  airy  gold  ! 

We  drink  that  wine  all  day, 
Till  the  laft  drop  is  drained  up, 

And  are  lighted  off  to  bed 
By  the  jewels  in  the  cup  ! 


SONGS    OF    SUMMER.  Io/ 


ON   THE   PIER. 

DOWN  at  the  end  of  the  long  dark  ftreet, 

Years,  years  ago, 
I  sat  with  my  sweetheart  on  the  pier, 

Watching  the  river  flow. 

The  moon  was  climbing  the  fky  that  night, 
White  as  the  winter's  snow  : 

We  kissed  in  its  light,  and  swore  to  be  true- 
But  that  was  years  ago  ! 

Once  more  I  walk  in  the  dark  old  ftreet, 

Wearily  to  and  fro  : 
But  I  sit  no  more  on  the  desolate  pier 

Watching  the  river  flow. 


2O  SONGS    OF    SUMMER. 


SPRING,  they  tell  me,  comes  in  bloom, 

Flowers  already  ftar  the  lea  : 
But  thou  art  lying  in  thy  tomb, 
And  there  is  no  Spring  for  me. 
Skies  are  gay 
Day  after  day, 

And  the  snow-drifts  melt  away  : 
But  there  is  no  Spring  for  me, 
Perdita. 

Over  thee  the  willows  wave, 

And  the  waning  moon  doth  mine  : 
But  thou  art  happy  in  thy  grave, 
And  I  would  I  were  in  mine. 
Heart  and  brain 
Are  racked  with  pain, 
For  I  seek  thy  grave  again  : 
But  I  soon  mail  reft  in  mine, 
Perdita  ! 


SONGS    OF    SUMMER.  21 


THE  gray  old  Earth  goes  on 

At  its  ancient  pace, 
Lifting  its  thunder-voice 
In  the  choir  of  space  ; 
And  the  years  as  they  go 
Are  singing  flow. 
Solemn  dirges,  full  of  wo  ! 

Tyrants  sit  upon  their  thrones, 

And  will  not  hear  the  people's  moans, 

Nor  hear  their  clanking  chains  : 
Or,  if  they  do,  they  add  thereto, 

And  mock,  not  ease  their  pains. 

But  little  liberty  remains, 
There  is  but  little  room  for  thee, 
In  this  wide  world,  O  Liberty  ! 
But  where  thy  foot  has  once  been  set 

Thou  wilt  remain,  though  oft  unseen 


22  SONGS    OF    SUMMER. 

And  grow  like  thought,  and  move  like  wind, 
Upon  the  troubled  sea  of  Mind, 

No  longer  now  serene. 
Thy  life  and  ftrength  thou  doft  retain, 
Despite  the  cell,  the  rack,  the  pain, 
And  all  the  battles  won  in  vain  ! 
And  even  now  thou  see'ft  the  hour 
That  lays  in  duft  the  thrones  of  Power : 
When  man  mail  once  again  be  free, 
And  Earth  renewed,  and  young  like  thee, 
O  Liberty  !     O  Liberty  ! 


SONGS    OF    SUMMER. 


23 


THERE  is  no  sin  to  hearts  that  love, 
Whatever  men  may  say  ; 

For  they  are  lifted  far  above 
The  laws  of  lesser  clay. 

They  are  unto  themselves  a  law, 

No  other  law  can  bind  : 
No  other  wakes  a  moment's  awe, 

For  meaner  men  designed. 

o 

Then  tell  me  not  'tis  love  that  parts, 
Nor  fear  the  powers  above  ; 

For  all  the  sins  of  loving  hearts 
Are  warned  away  by  love  ! 


24  SONGS    OF    SUMMER. 


THE   KING   MUSES. 

NAY,  keep  your  seats,  I  pray ;  let  no  one  ftir : 
The  banquet's  juft  begun.      Slaves,  fill  their  cups, 
And  ftand  behind  their  chairs  with  flafks  of  wine. 
For  me,  my  lords,  I  mean  to  walk  awhile, 
And  think  my  thoughts.   Come  off,  my  kingly  crown  ! 
You  chafe  my  temples  with  your  golden  round, 
And  turn  my  hair  to  silver  :  soh,  lie  there. 
And  now  I  doff  my  robe.     Drink,  gentlemen. 
Good  Fool,  put  on  this  weary  robe  and  crown, 
And  play  the  King.     Had  I  a  wreath  of  flowers, 
Such  as  the  country  maids  do  wear  in  spring, 
Frefh  wild  flowers,  cool  with  dew,  I'd  crown  myself. 
But  why  pluck  flowers  to  bind  a  few  gray  hairs  ? 
Before  the  year  is  out  a  whited  fkull 
Will  be  the  lordlieft  thing  that's  left  of  me. 
Away  with  all  this  mow  !  this  well-piled  board, 
These  glittering  lamps,  music,  and  song  and  wine  ! 
Bring  me  a  robe  of  sackcloth,  one  of  you, 
Another  ftrew  some  afhes  on  the  ground. 
When  you  have  finifhed  feafting,  gentlemen, 
You'll  find  me  with  the  leper  at  my  gates. 


SONGS    OF    SUMMER.  25 


THE    DIVAN. 

[PERSIA.] 

I. 

A  LITTLE  maid  of  Aftrakan, 

An  idol  on  a  silk  divan  ; 

She  sits  so  {till,  and  never  speaks, 

She  holds  a  cup  of  mine  ; 
'Tis  full  of  wine,  and  on  her  cheeks 

Are  {tains  and  smears  of  wine  ! 

ii. 

Thou  little  girl  of  Aftrakan, 
I  join  thee  on  the  silk  divan  : 
There  is  no  need  to  seek  the  land, 

The  rich  bazaars  where  rubies  mine 
For  mines  are  in  that  little  hand, 

And  on  those  little  cheeks  of  thine  ! 


26  SONGS    OF    SUMMER. 


THE  TRESS  OF  BROWN   HAIR  TO  THE  POET. 

HERE  I  lie,  a  tress  of  hair, 
Kissed  by  every  wandering  air, 
Wifhing  you  would  kiss  me  too  : 
Why  don't  you,  oftener  than  you  do  ? 
Through  my  ringlets  ran  her  fingers, 

Whom  you  love  so  fond  and  true ; 
And  their  sweetness  lingers,  lingers 

In  the  ringlets  ftill  for  you. 

Only  kiss  them  once,  and  see 
What  love  lies  embalmed  in  me  ! 
Kiss  me  now,  and  it  mall  seem 
As  if  you  kissed  her,  in  a  dream ; 
Nay  !   it  fhall  not  seem,  but  be  : 
You  mail  kiss  her,  sir,  and  me — 
She  fhall  ftand  before  you  there, 

Pale  and  fair, 
By  only  kissing  me,  a  little  tress  of  hair  ! 


SONGS    OF    SUMMER.  27 


THE  fky  is  thick  upon  the  sea, 
The  sea  is  sown  with  rain, 

And  in  the  passing  gufts  we  hear 
The  clanging  of  the  crane. 

The  cranes  are  flying  to  the  south  ; 

We  cut  the  northern  foam  : 
The  dreary  land  they  leave  behind 

Mutt  be  our  future  home. 

Its  barren  fhores  are  long  and  dark, 
And  gray  its  autumn  fky  ; 

But  better  these,  than  this  gray  sea, 
If  but  to  land — and  die  ! 


28  SONGS    OF    SUMMER. 


THE    FALCON. 

IN-DOORS  in  a  summer  day,  like  this, 

I  pine  with  a  fancied  wrong ; 
But  out  in  the  sunfhine,  out  in  the  wind, 

My  soul  is  a  falcon  ftrong. 

The  brave  bright  sun,  so  merry  and  old — 
He  lends  his  flrength  to  my  wings, 

And  I  soar  till  I  see  the  golden  gate, 
Where  the  lark  at  morning  sings. 

But  let  my  lady  summon  me  back, 

I  come,  as  a  falcon  fhould, 
Out  of  the  sunmine,  out  of  the  wind, 

And  yield  my  eyes  to  the  hood  ! 


SONGS    OF    SUMMER. 


DAY   AND    NIGHT. 

DAY  is  the  Child  of  Time, 
And  Day  muft  cease  to  be  : 

But  Night  is  without  a  sire, 

And  can  not  expire, 
One  with  Eternity. 

Day  and  the  angel  Life 

Circle  the  worlds  of  air, 
With  a  speed  that  looks  not  back ; 
For  Night  is  on  their  track, 

Clutching  their  golden  hair  ! 

She  comes,  me  comes  again, 

In  her  dark  and  pitiless  flight ; 
The  baby  Sleep  on  her  arm  reclined, 
The  fkeleton  Death  behind — 

The  Shadow  that  haunts  the  night ! 


3O  SONGS    OF    SUMMER. 


THE    DEAD. 

I  THINK  about  the  dead  by  day, 

I  dream  of  them  at  night : 
They  seem  to  ftand  beside  my  chair, 
Clad  in  the  clothes  they  used  to  wear, 

And  by  my  bed  in  white. 

J      '  i 

The  common-places  of  their  lives, 

The  lighteft  words  they  said, 
Revive  in  me,  and  give  me  pain, 
And  make  me  wifh  them  back  again, 

Or  wifh  that  I  were  dead. 

I  would  be  kinder  to  them  now, 

Were  they  alive  once  more  ; 
Would  kiss  their  cheeks,  and  kiss  their  hair, 
And  love  them,  like  the  angels -there, 

Upon  the  silent  more. 

I  know  not  where  ye  are,  ye  dead  ! 

My  dead,  so  dear  to  me  ! 
In  your  low  graves,  in  heaven,  or  hell : 
But  where  you  dwell  I  long  to  dwell, 

With  you  I  pine  to  be  ! 


SONGS    OF    SUMMER. 


THE    SEA. 

[MAID.] 

BY  the  rolling  waves  I  roam, 

And  look  along  the  sea, 
And  dream  of  the  day,  and  the  gleaming  sail 

That  bore  my  love  from  me. 

His  bark  now  sails  the  Indian  seas, 

Far  down  in  the  tropic  zone  : 
But  his  thoughts,  like  swallows,  fly  to  me, 

By  the  northern  waves  alone. 

Nor  will  he  delay,  when  winds  are  fair 

To  waft  him  back  to  me  : 
But  hafte,  my  love!  or  my  grave  will  be  made 

By  the  sad  and  moaning  sea! 


32  SONGS    OF    SUMMER. 


****  9  ^5  ®  **  ** 

MANY'S  the  time  I've  sighed  for  summer, 

Many's  the  summer  I've  known  ; 
But  to-day  I  cling  to  the  flying  spring, 

And  fear  to  have  it  flown. 
Not  that  May  is  gay, 
For  the  fky  is  cold  and  gray, 

And  a  madow  creeps  on  the  day : 
But  the  laden  summer  will  give  me, 

What  it  never  gave  before  ; 
Or  take  from  me  what  a  thousand 

Summers  can  give  no  more ! 


SONGS    OF    SUMMER. 


33 


THE    GIPSY   TOAD. 

[BOHEMIA.] 

ACROSS  the  haunted  moor  I  went, 
Wrapt  in  the  glooms  of  discontent : 
The  weeds  were  thick,  the  grass  was  sere, 
Because  the  gipsy's  toad  was  near. 

It  cowered  beside  the  marmy  road  ; 
Its  eye  with  devilim  cunning  glowed  : 
I  ftamped,  and  ftamped  it  in  the  mud, 
Until  my  feet  were  red  with  blood. 

Then  on  I  went  with  hurried  tramp, 
Until  I  reached  the  gipsy  camp  : 
Great  was  the  ftir  and  sorrow  there, 
And  the  old  Queen  tore  her  ragged  hair ! 

"What  is  the  matter,  old  Mother  Crawl?  " 
She  answered  me  not,  but  raised  her  fhawl : 
A  trampled  body,  a  mangled  head — 
Jesu !  the  gipsy's  child  was  dead ! 
3 


34 


SONGS    OF    SUMMER, 


A    SERENADE. 

[FRANCE.] 

THERE'S  a  door  in  your  chamber,  lady  mine, 

I,  the  King,  have  the  key  : 
There's  a  walk  in  my  garden's  deepeft  (hade, 

For  you,  Sweet,  and  me. 

We  are  royal  and  diftant  by  day, 

When  the  world  is  in  sight : 
But  at  night  we  have  hearts,  and  we  love, 

And  are  happy  at  night. 

The  lamps  have  gone  out,  lady  mine, 

All  is  ftill :  let  us  rise  : 
I  can  track  you  by  the  beat  of  your  heart, 

And  the  light  of  your  eyes. 

Through  the  dufk  of  the  lindens  we'll  glide, 

To  that  alley  of  ours  : 
And  kiss  in  the  light  of  the  moon, 

And  the  odor  of  flowers. 


SONGS    OF    SUMMER.  or 


THE  house  is  dark  and  dreary, 

And  my  heart  is  full  of  gloom  ; 
But  out  of  doors,  in  the  blessed  air, 
The  sun  is  warm,  the  fky  is  fair, 
And  the  flowers  are  ftill  in  bloom. 

A  moment  ago  in  the  garden 

I  scattered  the  mining  dew  : 
The  wind  was  soft  in  the  swaying  trees, 
The  morning-glories  were  full  of  bees, 
And  flraight  in  my  face  they  flew ! 

Yet  I  left  them  unmolefted, 

Draining  their  honey-wine, 
And  entered  the  weary  house  again, 
To  sit,  as  now,  by  a  bed  of  pain, 

With  a  fevered  hand  in  mine. 


oo  SONGS    OF    SUMMER. 


[ANTIQUE.] 

THE  phantom  that  walks  in  the  sun, 
The  terror  that  creeps  in  the  air, 

Has  entered  the  Garden  of  Youth, 
And  vainly  we  look  for  thee  there : 
Thy  spirit  has  vanifhed,  but  where  ? 

I  queftion  the  wind  of  the  summer, 
That  blows  o'er  the  land  and  the  sea ; 

It  gives  me  a  moan  for  my  moan, 
But  no  tidings  of  thee  : 

Nor  answer  the  ftars  in  the  fkies, 

Pining  ftill  for  the  light  of  thine  eyes! 


SONGS    OF    SUMMER.  37 


WERE    I    A    BIRD. 

WERE  I  a  little  winged  bird, 

As  I  desire  to  be, 
I  would  not  live  another  day 
In  this  dark  city,  but  away 

To  lands  beyond  the  sea. 

Pd  build  my  nefl  in  some  old  wood, 

From  other  nefts  apart : 
No  wing  among  the  boughs  would  be 
So  swift  as  mine,  no  song  so  free, 

So  pure  no  human  heart. 

The  sunlight  dripping  through  the  leaves 

The  merry  leaves  at  play  : 
The  rain  drops  pattering  on  the  roof: 
The  queenly  moon  :  the  pearly  woof 

That  paves  her  nightly  way  : 


SONGS    OF    SUMMER. 

This,  and  the  bliss  that  music  gives, 

The  rareft  ever  heard  j 
From  every  bird  a  song  divine, 
To  answer  mine  —  all  would  be  mine, 

Were  I  a  happy  bird. 

But  now — I'm  very  like  a  bird, 

Above  this  ledger's  page  : 
And  these  dry  mails  are  woods  along 
The  sounding  sea,  and  this  a  song  : 

The  city  is  my  cage ! 


SONGS    OF    SUMMER.  39 


THE   NIGHT    BEFORE   THE    BRIDAL. 

THE  bridal  flower  you  gave  me, 
The  rose  so  pure  and  white — 

I  press  it  to  my  lips,  dear, 
With  tears  of  soft  delight. 

Its  odor  is  so  heavy 

It  makes  me  faint  and  pine  : 
It  is  thy  kiss  that  freights  it, 

That  sweet,  sweet  love  of  thine  ! 

To-morrow  thou  wilt  give  me, 
For  a  spell  of  joy  and  power, 

The  hand  that  gave  the  rose-bud, 
And  thy  heart,  a  richer  flower. 

Then  this  may  fade,  and  wither, 

No  longer  kissed  by  me, 
For  these,  my  burning  kisses, 

Will  then  be  fhowered  on  thee ! 


4O  SONGS    OF    SUMMER, 


*««** 

DIM  grows  the  fky,  and  dufk  the  air, 
And  fhadows  settle  everywhere, 
Save  when  the  embers  ftreak  the  wall 
With  flames,  that  soon  in  darkness  fall, 

Pensive  I  sit,  relapsing  faft 
Into  the  dead,  the  silent  Paft : 
The  Paft  returns,  the  dead  are  here  ; 
Was  that  a  whisper  in  my  ear  ? 

No !  dear  one,  no  !   I  did  not  sigh  ; 
Nor  does  a  tear  bedim  mine  eye  : 
'Twas  the  officious  light  you  brought, 
And  something  alien  to  my  thought. 
But  even  if  my  tears  do  flow, 
I  weep  for  pleasure,  not  for  wo  : 
I  weep — because  I  love  you  so  ! 


SONGS    OF    SUMMER.  41 


SUMMER    AND    AUTUMN. 

THE  hot  mid-summer,  the  bright  mid-summer 

Reigns  in  its  glory  now  : 
The  earth  is  scorched  with  a  golden  fire, 
There  are  berries,  dead-ripe,  on  every  brier, 

And  fruits  on  every  bough. 

But  the  autumn  days,  so  sober  and  calm, 

Steeped  in  a  dreamy  haze  ; 
When  the  uplands  all  with  harvefts  mine, 
And  we  drink  the  wind  like  a  fine  cool  wine  — 

Ah  !  those  are  the  beft  of  days  ! 


42  SONGS    OF    SUMMER. 


THE    HELMET. 

[GERMANY.] 

WHERE  the  ftandards  waved  the  thicker!, 

And  the  tide  of  battle  rolled, 
Furiously  he  charged  the  foemen, 

On  his  snow-white  fleed  so  bold ; 
But  he  wore  no  guarding  helmet, 

Only  his  long  hair  of  gold  ! 

"  Turn,  and  fly  !  thou  ram  young  warrior, 

Or  this  iron  helmet  wear." 
"  Nay !  but  I  am  armed  already, 

In  the  brightness  of  my  hair  ; 
For  my  mother  kissed  its  tresses, 

With  the  holy  lips  of  prayer  !  " 


SONGS    OF    SUMMER. 


43 


ROSES    AND    THORNS. 

THE  young  child  Jesus  had  a  garden, 

Full  of  roses,  rare  and  red  : 
And  thrice  a  day  he  watered  them, 

To  make  a  garland  for  his  head. 

When  they  were  full-blown  in  the  garden, 
He  called  the  Jewifh  children  there, 

And  each  did  pluck  himself  a  rose, 
Until  they  ftripped  the  garden  bare. 

"And  now  how  will  you  make  your  garland  ? 

For  not  a  rose  your  path  adorns." 
u  But  you  forget,"  he  answered  them, 

"That  you  have  left  me  ftill  the  thorns." 

They  took  the  thorns,  and  made  a  garland, 
And  placed  it  on  his  mining  head  ; 

And  where  the  roses  mould  have  mone 
Were  little  drops  of  blood  inftead  ! 


44  SONGS    OF    SUMMER. 


BENEATH  the  heavy  curtains, 
My  face  againft  the  pane, 

I  peer  into  the  darkness, 
And  scan  the  night  in  vain. 

The  vine  o'erruns  the  lattice, 
And  lies  along  its  roof, 

So  thick  with  leaves  and  clutters 
It  keeps  the  moon  aloof. 

By  yonder  pear-tree  splintered 
The  feeble  radiance  falls, 

But  fails  to  pierce  the  branches, 
Or  touch  the  sombre  walls. 

No  moon,  no  ftarlight  gleaming, 
The  dark  encircles  me  ; 

And,  what  is  more  annoying, 
My  neighbor  cannot  see. 

She  {lands  beneath  her  curtains, 
Her  face  againft  the  pane, 

Nor  knows  that  I  am  watching 
For  her  to-night  again. 


SONGS    OF    SUMMER.  45 


RATTLE  the  window,  Winds  ! 

Rain,  drip  on  the  panes  ! 
There  are  tears  and  sighs  in  our  hearts  and  eyes, 

And  a  weary  weight  on  our  brains. 

i 

The  gray  sea  heaves  and  heaves, 

On  the  dreary  flats  of  sand  ; 
And  the  blafted  limb  of  the  churchyard  yew  — 

It  {hakes  like  a  ghoftly  hand  ! 

The  dead  are  engulfed  beneath  it, 

Sunk  in  the  grassy  waves  : 
But  we  have  more  dead  in  our  hearts  to-day 

Than  the  Earth  in  all  her  graves ! 


46  SONGS    OF    SUMMER. 


THE    VEILED    STATUE. 

THERE'S  a  ftatue  in  my  chamber, 
Carved  in  other  years  for  me. 

From  the  memory  of  a  lady 
In  a  land  beyond  the  sea. 

In  its  niche  I  keep  it  hidden 
By  a  veil  from  common  eyes  : 

But  my  own  behold  it  ever, 
And  its  made  upon  me  lies. 

Through  the  day  it  ftands  before  me, 
And  appalls  my  mrinking  sight, 

And  at  night  it  grows  so  awful 
That  I  cannot  fleep  for  fright ! 

For  when  falls  the  ghoftly  moonlight 
In  the  silence  of  the  room, 

And  my  spirit  faints  within  me 
As  it  hearkens  for  its  doom  — 


SONGS    OF    SUMMER. 

'Tis  no  more  the  woman's  ftatue, 
But  the  woman's  self  I  see, 

Pallid  with  her  love  and  sorrow, 
And  the  death  me  died  for  me. 

And,  so  ftrange  her  spell  upon  me, 
As  me  bends  above  my  bed, 

She  becomes  the  wretched  living, 
I  the  (till  more  wretched  dead! 


47 


48  SONGS    OF    SUMMER, 


DEAD    LEAVES. 

THE  day  is  dead,  and  in  its  grave, 

The  flowers  are  faft  afleep  ; 
But  in  this  solemn  wood  alone 

My  nightly  watch  I  keep  : 
The  night  is  dark,  the  dew  descends, 
But  dew  and  darkness  are  my  friends. 

I  ftir  the  dead  leaves  under  foot, 
And  breathe  the  earthy  smell ; 

It  is  the  odor  of  decay, 
And  yet  I  like  it  well : 

Give  others  day,  and  scented  flowers, 

Give  me  dead  leaves,  and  midnight  hours  ! 


SONGS    OF    SUMMER.  49 


"POEMS    OF   THE    ORIENT." 

WE  read  your  little  book  of  Orient  lays, 

And  half  believe  old  superstitions  true  ; 

No  Saxon  like  ourselves,  an  Arab,  you, 

Stolen  in  your  babyhood  by  Saxon  fays. 

That  you  in  fervid  songs  recall  the  blaze 

Of  eaftern  suns  ;  behold  the  deep-blue  fkies  ; 

Lie  under  ruftling  palms  ;  breathe  winds  of  spice, 

And  dream  of  veiled  sultanas,  is  no  praise. 

All  this  is  native  to  you  as  the  air ; 

You  but  regain  the  birthright  loft  of  yore  : 

The  marvel  is  it  now  becomes  our  own. 

We  wind  the  turban  round  our  Frankifh  hair, 

Spring  on  our  fteeds,  that  paw  the  desert's  floor, 

And  take  the  sandy  solitude  alone ! 


5° 


SONGS    OF    SUMMER, 


THE    DEMON    OF   MUSIC. 

THERE'S  a  demon  in  Music, 

Whatever  its  tone  ; 
He  dwells  in  the  crowd 

Of  its  voices  alone  : 
He  moans  when  they  laugh, 

He  laughs  when  they  moan  ! 

This  demon  of  Music 

Hath  some  how  been  crossed 
He  longs  for  what  is  not, 

Or  was,  and  is  loft  : 
That  Life  is  a  torture 

He  knows  to  his  coft ! 

0  demon  of  Music ! 
I  pity  your  pain  ; 

1  have  felt  it  myself, 

And  fhall  feel  it  again  : 
'Tis  the  riddle  of  living, 
This  living  in  vain ! 


SONGS    OF    SUMMER. 


THE   SEA. 

[THE  LOVER.] 
TFOU  pallid  fiftier  maiden, 

That  ftandeft  by  the  fhore, 
Why  doft  thou  watch  the  ocean, 

And  hearken  to  its  roar  ? 

It  is  some  Danifh  sailor, 

That  sails  the  Spanim  main : 

Nor  will  thy  roses  redden 
Till  he  returns  again. 

D 

Thou  simple  timer  maiden  ! 

He  cares  no  more  for  thee : 
He  fleeps  with  the  mermaidens, 

The  witches  of  the  sea. 

Thou  fhould'ft  not  watch  the  ocean, 

And  hearken  to  its  roar, 
When  bridal  bells  are  ringing 

In  little  kirks  afhore. 

Go,  dress  thee  for  thy  bridal  ! 

A  flalwart  man  like  me 
Is  worth  a  thousand  sailors, 

Whose  bones  are  in  the  sea  ! 


52  SONGS    OF    SUMMER, 


MY  only  dreams  are  waking  dreams, 

The  fancies  of  the  day  ; 
At  night  I  lie  upon  my  bed 
And  reft  as  soundly  as  the  dead, 

Who  ileep  the  years  away  ! 

To  some  the  doors  of  Sleep  unclose, 

To  me  the  gate  of  Death  : 
I  enter  not  the  sunless  land, 
But  all  night  on  the  threfhold  ftand, 
My  life  upon  my  breath  ! 


SONGS    OF    SUMMER. 


AT   REST. 


53 


WITH  folded  hands  the  lady  lies 

In  flowing  robes  of  white, 
A  globed  lamp  beside  her  couch, 

A  disc  of  tender  light. 

With  such  a  light  above  her  head, 

A  little  year  ago, 
She  walked  adown  the  fhadowy  vale 

Where  the  blood-red  roses  grow ! 

A  fhape  or  fhadow  joined  her  there, 

To  pluck  the  royal  flower ; 
But  ftole  the  lily  from  her  breaft, 

Albeit  her  only  dower. 

With  that  all  went  —  her  false  love  firft, 

And  then  her  peace  of  heart : 
The  hard  world  frowned  j  her  friends  grew  cold 

She  hid  in  tears  apart : 

And  now  fhe  lies  upon  her  couch. 

Amid  the  dying  light, 
Nor  wakes  to  hear  the  little  voice 

That  moans  throughout  the  night ! 


54  SONGS    OF    SUMMER. 


WRECKS  of  clouds  of  a  sombre  gray, 
Like  the  ribbed  remains  of  a  maftodon, 

Were  piled  in  masses  along  the  weft, 

And  a  ftreak  of  red  ftretched  over  the  sun. 

I  flood  on  the  deck  of  the  ferry  boat, 

As  the  summer  evening  deepened  to  night ; 

Where  the  tides  of  the  river  ran  darkling  paft, 
Through  lengthening  pillars  of  crinkled  light, 

The  wind  blew  over  the  land  and  the  waves 
With  its  salt  sea-breath,  and  a  spicy  balm, 

And  it  seemed  to  cool  my  throbbing  brain, 
And  lend  my  spirit  its  gufty  calm. 

The  foreft  of  mafts,  the  dark-hulled  mips, 
The  twinkling  lights,  and  the  sea  of  men  — 

I  read  the  riddle  of  each  and  all, 

And  I  knew  their  inner  meaning  then. 

For  while  the  beautiful  moon  arose, 

And  drifted  the  boat  in  her  yellow  beams, 

My  soul  went  down  the  river  of  thought, 
That  flows  in  the  myftic  land  of  dreams  ! 


SONGS    OF    SUMMER.  55 


No  !  I  will  not  leave  you,  Madam, 
In  the  darkness  and  the  rain  ; 

'Tis  for  you  to  be  so  cruel, 
But  for  me,  I  pity  pain. 

Be  my  silly  love  forgotten, 
I  forgive  you  your  disdain. 

You  have  goodly  halls  and  houses, 
And  your  loves  of  high  degree  ^ 

I  have  nothing  but  my  passion, 
You  can  never  think  of  me  ; 

In  your  pride  as  far  above  me, 
As  the  moon  above  the  sea. 

But,  it  seems,  at  laft  you  love  me, 
If  I  read  your  thoughts  aright, 

For  behold!  I  fly  your  presence, 
And  you  follow  in  my  flight, 

Till  you  find  me  by  the  lightnings, 
In  the  thunders  of  the  night ! 


56  SONGS    OF    SUMMER. 


THE   SHADOW. 

THERE  is  but  one  great  sorrow, 

All  over  the  wide  wide  world  ; 
But  that  in  turn  mufr  come  to  all  — 
The  Shadow  that  moves  behind  the  pall, 

A  flag  that  never  is  furled ! 

Till  he  in  his  marching  crosses 

The  threfhold  of  the  door, 
Usurps  a  place  in  the  inner  room, 
Where  he  broods  in  the  awful  hum  and  gloom, 

Till  he  goes,  and  comes  no  more  — 

Save  this  there  is  no  sorrow, 

Whatever  we  think  we  feel ; 
But  when  Death  comes  all's  over : 
'Tis  a  blow  that  we  never  recover, 

A  wound  that  never  will  heal ! 


SONGS    OF    SUMMER. 


57 


NOVEMBER. 

THE  wild  November  comes  at  laft 

Beneath  a  veil  of  rain  ; 
The  night  wind  blows  its  folds  aside, 

Her  face  is  full  of  pain. 

The  lateft  of  her  race,  fhe  takes 
The  Autumn's  vacant  throne  : 

She  has  but  one  fhort  moon  to  live, 
And  me  muft  live  alone. 

A  barren  realm  of  withered  fields  : 
Bleak  woods  of  fallen  leaves  : 

The  paleft  morns  that  ever  dawned  : 
The  drearieft  of  eves  : 

It  is  no  wonder  that  me  comes, 
Poor  month  !  with  tears  of  pain  : 

For  what  can  one  so  hopeless  do 
But  weep,  and  weep  again  ! 


58  SONGS    OF    SUMMER, 


THE    FIRST    SNOW. 

TO-DAY  has  been  a  pleasant  day, 

Despite  the  cold  and  snow ; 
A  sabbath  ftillness  filled  the  air, 
And  pictures  {lumbered  everywhere, 

Around,  above,  below. 

We  woke  at  dawn,  and  saw  the  trees 

Before  our  windows  white  ; 
Their  limbs  were  clad  with  snow,  like  bark, 
Save  that  the  under  sides  were  dark, 

Like  bars  againft  the  light. 

The  fence  was  white  around  the  house, 

The  lamp  before  the  door ; 
The  porch  was  glazed  with  pearled  fleet, 
Great  drifts  lay  in  the  silent  ftreet, 

The  ftreet  was  seen  no  more  ! 

Long  trenches  had  been  roughly  dug, 

And  giant  footprints  made  ; 
But  few  were  out ;  the  ftreets  were  bare  : 
I  saw  but  one  pale  wanderer  there, 

And  he  was  like  a  made  ! 


SONGS    OF    SUMMER.  59 

I  seemed  to  walk  another  world, 

Where  all  was  ftill  and  bleft  : 
The  cloudless  fky,  the  ftainless  snows  — 
It  was  a  vision  of  repose, 

A  dream  of  heavenly  reft  : 

A  dream  the  holy  night  completes, 

For  now  the  moon  hath  come, 
I  ftand  in  heaven  with  folded  wings, 
A  free  and  happy  soul  that  sings 

When  all  things  else  are  dumb  ! 


60  SONGS    OF    SUMMER. 


BURIED  IN  SONGS  THAT  NEVER  YET  WERE 

SUNG." 

COULD  I  arreft  the  flight  of  Time, 

Revive  the  years  of  yore, 
I  would  not  afk  one  sorrow  less, 

Or  know  one  joy  the  more  : 
It  were  enough  to  sing  the  songs 

I  fhould  have  sung  before. 

My  days  and  years  have  silent  been, 

For  all  that  I  have  sung  : 
Some  dreamy  rhymes  have  dropped  from  me, 

Some  sad  hath  sorrow  wrung ; 
But  nothing  great;  and  now,  alas  ! 

I  am  no  longer  young. 

I  would  recall  my  early  dreams, 

But  they  are  dead  to  me  ; 
As  well  with  laft  year's  withered  buds 

Reclothe  a  this  year's  tree  : 
It  is  not  what  I  might  have  been. 

But  what  I  yet  may  be. 


SONGS    OF    SUMMER.  6l 


That  thought  alone  avails  me  now, 
And  all  regrets  are  vain  : 

They  seem  to  bring  a  dreamy  bliss, 
But  bring  a  certain  pain  : 

To  him  who  works,  and  only  him, 
The  Paft  returns  again. 


II. 


SONGS    OF    SUMMER.  65 


CARMEN    NATURAE    TRIUMPHALE. 

I. 

MUSING  in  solitude  the  summer  long, 

Musing  beside  this  sea,  beneath  these  fkies,. 
Whose  cloudy  calm  upon  my  spirit  lies, 
My  spirit  has  been  fed,  my  fainting  heart  made  ftrong. 
No  more  content  with  sensuous  sounds  and  sights, 
No  more  content  with  sensuous  bread  and  wine, 
I  feel  a  hunger  and  a  thirft  divine  ; 
Forgetting  all  my  dreams,  and  soft  delights, 
My  days  of  indolence,  my  sweet  voluptuous  nights  ! 
My  wild  voluptuous  nights  are  flown  ; 
I  cannot  live  by  bread  alone, 
For  bread  is  naught ; 
I  live  by  thought, 
Giving  myself  to  Nature, 
A  many-minded  creature, 

Whom  sovereign  Nature  loves,  a  sovereign  Child  of 
Nature  ! 

ii. 

There  was  a  time,  a  wafted  time  in  youth, 
Before  my  idle  soul  unfurled  her  wings, 
5 


66  SONGS    OF    SUMMER. 

When  I  looked  round  upon  all  outward  things 
As  truths,  and  not  the  outward  fhows  of  Truth  : 
The  forms  and  powers  of  Nature  were  my  flaves 
A  flower  was  then  a  simple  flower  to  me, 

A  tree  a  tree, 

And  the  sea  nothing,  save  a  wafte  of  waves. 
Now,  these  are  nothing  of  themselves  alone  ; 
A  fhining  mantle  over  them  is  thrown  : 
Or  years  have  raised  the  mantle  of  my  youth, 
Whereby  I  see  the  world  in  all  its  naked  truth. 

in. 

The  outward  world  of  sound  and  sight, 
The  fhows  of  day,  the  pomps  of  night, 

Are  other  than  they  seem  ; 
The  clouds  around  a  hidden  ftar, 

The  fleep  around  a  dream. 
The  airs  that  fan  the  globe 
Wrap  it  with  Being,  like  a  robe  ; 
And  the  clouds  waft  it  over  land  and  sea, 
Like  Ages  floating  through  Eternity ! 
It  lives  in  duft,  and  grass,  and  flowers, 

And  in  the  trees, 

And  in  the  springs,  and  flreams,  and  seas, 
And  in  the  mountains,  Earth's  Titanic  Powers ; 
And  in  Earth's  central  deeps  it  dwells  the  same  ; 
A  heart  of  fire,  it  beats  in  fire  and  flame  ! 


SONGS    OF    SUMMER.  6/ 

Throughout  the  Universe  there  is  no  spot 

Where  Life  is  not : 
Nowhere  is  any  death  :   Death  does  but  seem  ; 

A  dream  within  the  dream  : 

Nothing  but  Life,  and  Change,  its  heart  and  cause, 
The  adamantine  base  of  crumbling  laws. 
The  flowers  may  fade  away,  the  woods  may  fall, 

The  sea  may  wafte  the  land,  the  land  the  sea, 
And  men  may  feed  the  worms  beneath  the  pall, 

And  Time  may  vanifh  in  Eternity ; 
Still,  ocean-like,  the  tides  of  Being  lie, 

Filled  from  exhauftless  urns  ; 

The  flame  of  Life  ftill  burns, 

And  God  flill  sits  on  high, 
And  watches  Earth  below,  with  His  unfleeping  eye  ! 

IV. 

Why  mould  I  read  what  man  has  penned, 
His  speculations  without  end, 
When  here  the  Book  of  Nature  lies, 
Open  to  all  her  children's  eyes, 
No  wire-drawn,  narrow  comments  there, 
Nor  any  warrant  for  despair  ? 
I  tell  you,  Nay  !     It  cannot  be, 
Creation  is  enough  for  me  : 

I  will  not  look 

On  creed  or  book, 


68  SONGS    OF    SUMMER. 

Or  aught  beside  the  earth  and  fkies ; 
There  is  no  need 
Of  book,  or  creed, 

To  teach  a  man,  and  make  him  good  and  wise ; 
We  all  are  wise  and  good, 
If  truly  underftood  ; 

Within  ourselves  the  source  of  truth  and  virtue  lies. 
There  is  no  need  of  temples  built  with  hands, 
To  caft  their  fhadows  over  subject  lands ; 
No  need  of  ftoled  priefts,  and  chanting  friars, 
Censers,  and  incense  smoke,  and  altar  fires  ; 
No  need  of  crucifix  and  beads ; 

No  need  of  sacred  bread  and  wine, 
Of  hymns,  and  psalms,  and  prayers  supine, 
And  penances  and  fafts,  whereby  our  nature  bleeds. 
We  mould  obey  ourselves  alone, 

Nor  afk  what  paths  have  others  trod ; 
God  wants  no  sign  to  know  His  own, 

Nor  they  to  know  their  God. 
Better,  far  better  now 
The  dew  upon  my  brow, 
Than  all  the  ancient  use  and  wont 
Of  water  from  the  holy  font, 
Though  med  by  holieft  hands  on  earth, 
The  symbol  of  a  heavenly  birth. 
The  bread  and  wine  of  quiet  thought 
Is  sacrament  enough  for  me  ; 


SONGS    OF    SUMMER.  69 

Enough  the  Temple  of  the  world, 

The  fky,  the  land,  the  sea: 
Whether  the  Spring  perform  its  dewy  rite  ; 

Whether    the   Summer    binds    her    brow   with 

leaves  ; 

Whether  the  Autumn  {lands  amid  the  fheaves ; 
Or  whether  Winter  plucks  his  locks  of  white. 
God  speaks  to  me  in  fhouting  winds, 
And  in  the  waves  that  fhoreward  come, 
And  in  the  little  insect's  hum, 
And  in  the  ftill  small  voice  of  human  minds. 
The  year,  with  all  its  train  of  nights  and  days, 
Is  a  perpetual  service  in  His  praise  ; 
Morn  comes  from  Him,  as  came  the  olden  seers, 
With  fiery  messages  of  awe  and  love ; 
From  Him  the  golden  Noon  that  climbs  above, 
Transfigured  day  by  day  from  immemorial  years  ! 
And  Night,  incarnate  Night, 

Forever  veiled  and  calm, 
Eldefl  of  all  things  that  created  be  ; 

Night  reads  in  silence  her  eternal  psalm, 
The  gospel  of  the  darkness,  penned  in  light, 
The  ftarred  evangel  of  infinity! 
The  road  to  Heaven  is  broader  than  the  world, 
And  deeper  than  the  kingdoms  of  the  dead  ; 
And  up  its  ample  paths  the  nations  tread, 
With  all  their  banners  furled  : 


JO  SONGS    OF    SUMMER. 

No  saint  nor  angel  sits  beside  its  gate, 

Holding  the  key  within  his  griping  hands  : 
The  loving  gate  of  Heaven  wide  open  ftands, 
Not  to  be  closed  again  by  earthly  hate  : 
And  evermore,  with  all  their  grief  and  sin, 
The  souls  keep  pouring  in, 
Singing  melodious  psalms, 

While  angels  pitch  their  tents  beneath  the  heavenly 
palms  ! 

v. 

There  be  who  love  not  Nature,  souls  forlorn, 
Who  see  no  beauty  in  the  smiling  morn, 
No  joy  in  noon,  no  tenderness  in  night, 

No  pillared  cloud  of  light ! 
Not  such  the  little  child,  nor  such  the  youth 

Who  has  not  done  his  childly  nature  wrong : 
These  Nature  loves,  and  leads  through  realms  of 

truth, 

Forever  flufhed  with  atmospheres  of  Song  ! 
Can  I  forget  the  wonder,  and  the  joy, 
That  Nature  roused  within  me,  when  a  boy  ? 
The  gum  of  feelings,  pure  and  undefiled, 
The  deep  and  rapturous  gladness, 
The  nameless  sadness, 

The  Vision  that  overpowered  the  visionary  child  ? 
Forget !  forget !  the  very  hour  I  do, 
May  Heaven  forget  me  too  ! 


SONGS    OF    SUMMER.  7 1 

May  Nature  fhut  me  in  her  waftes  apart, 
And  press  me  —  never  more  on  her  maternal  heart ! 

VI. 

0  Nature  !   Nature  !   I  have  worfhipped  thee 
From  being's  dimmeft  dawn,  perchance  before  ; 
Or  ere  my  spirit  touched  this  earthly  more, 

Or  time  began  with  me. 

When  but  a  babe,  (so  say  the  ancient  crones 
Who  nursed  me   then,)  I  watched   the  fky  for 

hours, 
Smiled   at   the   clouds,  and   laughed   in   glee   at 

fhowers, 

And  wept  when  winds  were  at  their  wintry  moans. 
A  little  truant  child  with  trembling  tread, 

I  sought  the  garden  walks,  with  wondering  mind, 
Perplexed  to  hear  the  fluting  of  the  wind 
In  branches  overhead  : 

1  loved  the  wind,  I  loved  the  whispering  trees, 
I  loved  their  ftiadowy  fhifting  images, 

And  loved  the  spots  of  light  that  lay  like  smiles 
Around  the  green  arcades,  and  leafy  foreft  aisles. 
With  bolder  ftcps  I  tracked  the  meadows,  deep 
In  fragrant  grasses,  decked  with  daisies  white, 
And  marked  the  mift  on  many  a  mountain  height, 

Melting  away  like  Sleep. 
The  larks  went  up  before  me,  and  behind, 


72  SONGS    OF    SUMMER. 

But  not  so  faft  as  songs  within  my  tuneful  mind  ! 
Through    sweeps   of  landscape,  over   lawns    and 

plains, 

And  where  the  birches  walled  their  silver  lanes 
I  passed,  and  down  the  gradual  flope  of  vales, 
Where  tangled  waters  told  their  drowsy  tales  ; 
The1  river  lay  below  in  azure  reft, 
Sparkled  the  lake  with  lilies  on  its  breaft ; 
And  where  the  jutting  rocks  o'errimmed  the  wall 
Of  abrupt  gulfs,  I  saw  the  waterfall 

With  clouds  of  vapor  blent, 

A  column  of  white  light,  a  snow-like  monument ! 
It  mattered  little  where  I  went, 
Everywhere  I  was  content ; 
Everywhere  I  saw  and  heard 
Sights  and  sounds  divine  ; 
Everywhere  was  Nature  ftirred, 
And  Nature's  love  was  mine, 
I  —  what  loved  I  not,  O  Nature,  that  was  thine  ? 
I  held  my  peace  j   I  sang  aloud  ; 
I  walked  the  world  as  in  a  cloud. 

/  loved  the  Clouds  : 

Fire-fringed  at  dawn,  or  red  with  twilight  bloom  ; 
Or  ftretched  above,  like  isles  of  leaden  gloom 
In  heaven's  vaft  deep  ;  or  drawn  in  belts  of  gray  ; 
Or  dark  blue  walls  along  the  base  of  day  ; 
Or  snow-drifts  luminous  at  higher}  noon ; 


SONGS    OF    SUMMER.  73 

Ragged  and  black  in  tempefts,  veined  with  light 
ning  ; 

And  when  the  moon  was  brightening 
Impearled,  and  purpled  by  the  changeful  moon. 

/  loved  the  Moon  : 
Whether  me  lingered  by  the  porch  of  Even, 

When  Day  retiring  ftruck  his  yellow  tents  ; 
Whether  me  scaled  the  ancient  peaks  of  heaven, 

Whose  angels  watched  her  from  its  battlements  ; 
Whether,  like  early  Spring,  me  walked  the  night, 

O'er  traces  of  cloudy  snow  ; 
Whether  me  dwindled  in  the  morning  light, 

Like  some  departed  spirit,  loath  to  go  ; 
Or  sifted  mowers  of  silver  through  the  trees, 
Or  trod  with  her  white  feet  across  the  heaving  seas  ! 

/  loved  the  Sea  : 
Whether  in  calm  it  glassed  the  gracious  day 

With  all  its  light,  the  night  with  all  its  fires  ; 
Whether  in  ftorm  it  lamed  its  sullen  spray, 

Wild  as  the  heart  when  passionate  youth  expires  ; 
Or  lay,  as  now,  a  torture  to  my  mind, 
In  yonder  land-locked  bay,  unwrinkled  by  the  wind  ! 

/  loved  the  Wind  : 

Whether  it  kissed  my  hair,  and  pallid  brow ; 
Whether  with  sweets  my  sense  it  fed,  as  now  ; 
Whether  it  blew  across  the  scudding  main  ; 
Whether  it  fhrieked  above  a  ftretch  of  plain  ; 


74  SONGS    OF    SUMMER. 

Whether,  on  autumn  days,  in  solemn  woods, 

And  barren  solitudes, 

Along  the  wafte  it  whirled  the  withered  leaves  ; 
Whether  it  hummed  around  my  cottage  eaves, 

And  fhook  the  rattling  doors, 
And  died  with  long-drawn  sighs,  on  bleak  and  dreary 

moors  ! 

Whether  in  winter,  when  its  trump  did  blow 
Through  desolate  gorges  dirges  of  despair, 
It  drove  the  snowflakes  flantly  down  the  air, 

And  piled  the  drifts  of  snow ; 
Or  whether  it  breathed  soft,  in  vernal  hours, 
And  filled  the  trees  with  sap,  and  filled  the  grass  with 

flowers. 
Wind,   sea,  and  moon,  and  clouds,  and  day  and 

night, 
The  weeks,  and  months,   and   seasons  of  the 

year : 

What  was  there  was  not  dear  ? 
What  was  not  radiant  with  heavenly  light  ? 
What  did  not  Nature  cherifh  that  was  mine  ? 
What  did  not  I  adore,  O  Nature,  that  was  thine  ? 

VII. 

My  life  with  Nature  now  is  blent ; 

She  is  a  portion  of  my  blood  j 
I  am  her  passive  inftrument, 


SONGS    OF    SUMMER.  75 

The  creature  of  her  every  mood  ; 
A  part  and  parcel  of  her  forms, 
Of  her  calms,  and  of  her  florins. 
To  her  my  soul  unfolds  as  violets  do, 
When  April  winds  are  low,  and  April  fkies  are  blue. 
I  am  a  harp  whereon  me  plays, 
When  me  accompanies  her  lays  ; 
A  sea  of  moon-like  presence  sways, 
Shifting  its  tides  a  thousand  ways. 
Deep  in  her  heart  I  live,  and  feel 
Whate'er  me  pleases  to  reveal ; 
And  in  my  heart,  with  joy  intense, 
I  paint  her  forms  that  fade  not  thence, 
And  in  my  thoughts  see  more  and  more  magnificence  ; 
My  waking  thoughts,  and  in  my  deep 
I  carry  on  the  marvel  deep, 
And  dream  all  night  of  tropic  seas  and  fkies, 
And  Time  immortal  Youth,  and  Earth  a  Paradise  ! 
Nor  does  the  beautiful  and  bright 
Alone  affecl:  me  with  delight ; 
Familiar  things,  and  common-place, 

Give  me  emotions  undefined ; 
As  if  I  gazed  in  some  seraphic  face, 

Some  presence  filled  with  mind. 
A  Presence  fronts  and  haunts  me  everywhere, 

Stands  in  the  sun,  and  dips  below  the  sea  j 
Fills  all  the  voideft  spaces  of  the  air, 


76  SONGS    OF    SUMMER. 

And  lives  in  all  things,  like  Eternity  ! 
The  motes  of  duft  on  which  I  tread, 
The  floating  ftars  above  my  head, 
All  without  me,  and  within, 
To  Nature  and  to  Man  are  kin. 
Whence  comes  this  ftrange  affinity 
That  Man,  O  Nature,  has  for  thee  ? 
Forever  unto  thee  we  run, 

And  give  ourselves  away ; 
Like  melting  mifts  that  seek  the  sun, 

Like  night  that  seeks  the  day. 
To  Nature  do  we  turn,  and  minifter, 
Because  we  were  of  old  a  part  of  her. 
It  is  a  recognition, 

A  memory,  an  appealing ; 
An  interchange  of  vision, 

An  interchange  of  feeling  ; 
A  twofold  love,  within  the  linked  scope 
Of  backward-looking  Memory,  and  forward-looking 

Hope  ! 
The  soul  of  man  detects,  and  sympathizes 

With  its  old  fhapes  of  matter,  long  outworn  ; 
And  matter,  too,  to  new  sensations  born, 
Detects  the  soul  of  man,  with  spiritual  surprises. 
Few  underftand  their  mutual  dreams, 

And  few  translate  their  speeches  ; 
Save  poets  versed  in  Nature's  themes, 


SONGS    OF    SUMMER.  JJ 

And  those  whom  Nature  teaches. 
They  ftare  at  us,  and  we  at  them  ; 
We  dare  not  flight,  nor  dare  contemn  : 
We  are  the  ripe  fruit  on  the  Item. 
Not  a  leaf  upon  the  tree, 

Not  a  bird  upon  the  bough, 
But  waves  its  little  flag  to  me, 

And  sings  within  my  spirit  now ; 
Sings  to  itself  in  bowers  apart, 
Within  the  regions  of  my  heart. 
I  am  what  winds  and  waters  make  me ; 

What  the  clouds  and  thunders  please ; 

And  what  the  changeful  seas  : 
As  Nature  is,  so  men  must  take  me ; 
For  I  to  Nature's  self  belong, 

As  much  as  any  bud  or  bee ; 
And  when  you  do  to  her  a  wrong, 

You  do  a  wrong  to  me. 
Be  it  sad,  or  merry,  or  sweet,  or  ftrong, 
She  breathes  her  influence  in  my  song, 
And  in  my  daily  life  me  gleams, 
And  is  the  subftance  of  my  dreams. 
I  love  her  not  as  bard  or  painter  might, 
To  spy  and  seize  on  sound  and  sight, 

But  for  mine  own  delight. 

Often  I  do  not  hear,  nor  see, 

Nor  know  the  banquet  laid  for  me  ; 


7$  SONGS    OF    SUMMER. 

The  sun  may  burn,  the  ftars  may  mine, 
The  pallid  moon  in  heaven  may  pine, 
The  sea  may  warn  a  rocky  more, 
The  wind  may  howl,  the  tempeft  roar, 
Nor  I  be  other  than  before. 
It  may  be  day,  it  may  be  night, 
Or  foul  or  fair, 
I  do  not  care, 

I  go  not  there  to  learn,  but  for  mine  own  delight ! 
And  yet  I  learn  what  books  can  never  teach, 

Nor  any  words  express  ; 
A  myftic  love,  a  wordless  speech  ; 
For  Nature  teaches  so,  in  sacred  silentness. 
And  when  we  seem  afleep  in  dreams, 

Our  deepeft  lore  is  caught, 
For  Truth  within  man's  nature  dwells, 
Her  fabled  fount,  her  well  of  wells, 
Her  cryftal  deep  of  thought ! 

VIII. 

In  silent  thought,  that  yearns  to  find  a  tongue, 
Burthened  with  cares,  and  racked  with  cureless 

pains, 
I  rove  to-day  through  Nature's  wide  domains, 

No  longer  gay  and  young; 
No  longer  moved  with  feelings  undefiled, 
No  more,  no  more  a  child  ! 


SONGS    OF    SUMMER.  79 

But  wherefore  grieve  ?     The  Paft  is  paft, 

Nor  can  the  Present  always  laft  ; 

It  sows  the  Future  in  its  seeds. 

And  flowers  will  grow,  where  grow  the  weeds  ; 

And  suns  will  fhine,  and  dews  will  fall ; 
And  Love,  the  sum  of  human  needs, 

Love,  comes  to  all : 
Yea  !   even  comes,  so  universal  he, 

To  me,  to  even  me  ! 
Then  let  me  dry  again  these  gathering  tears, 

These  bitter  tears,  and  turn,  Beloved,  to  thee  ; 
For  thee  to  live  and  die,  in  future  years, 

As  thou  for  only  me  ! 
Meanwhile  my  soul  to  meditation  given, 
A  many-sided  mirror,  broad  and  bright, 
Reflects  whatever  meets  my  thoughtful  sight, 
The  myriad  mapes  and  hues  of  earth  and  heaven  ; 
Diffused  through  all,  like  odors  in  the  wind, 
My  mind  the  Universe,  the  Universe  my  Mind  ! 

j85i. 


80  SONGS    OF    SUMMER. 


INVOCATION    TO   SLEEP. 

DRAW  the  curtains  round  your  bed, 
And  I'll  fhade  the  wakeful  light; 
'Twill  be  hard  for  you  to  fleep, 
If  you  keep  me  ftill  in  sight; 
But  you  muft  though,  and  without  me, 
For  I  have  a  song  to  write  ; 
Then  fleep,  love,  fleep  : 
The  flowers  have  gone  to  reft, 
And  the  birds  are  in  the  neft  : 

It  is  time  for  you  to  join  them  beneath  the  wings  of 
Sleep  ! 

Wave  thy  poppies  round  her,  Sleep  ! 

Touch  her  eyelids,  flood  her  brain  : 
Banim  Memory,  Thought,  and  Strife, 
Bar  the  portals  of  her  life, 

Till  the  morning  comes  again. 
Let  no  enemy  intrude 
On  her  helpless  solitude  : 

Fear,  and  Pain,  and  all  their  train  — 


SONGS    OF    SUMMER.  8 1 

Keep  the  evil  hounds  at  bay, 
And  all  evil  dreams  away. 
Thou,  thyself,  keep  thou  the  key, 
Or  entruft  it  unto  me, 

Sleep!   Sleep!   Sleep! 
A  lover's  eyes  are  bright, 
In  the  darker!  night, 

And  jealous  even  of  dreams,  almoft  of  thee,  dear 
Sleep ! 

I  muft  sit,  and  think,  and  think, 
Till  the  ftars  begin  to  wink : 
(For  the  web  of  Song  is  wrought 
Only  in  the  loom  of  Thought :) 
She  muft  lie,  and  fleep,  and  fleep, 
(Be  her  {lumbers  calm  and  deep  !) 
Till  the  dews  of  morning  weep  : 
Therefore  bind  your  sweeteft  sprite 
To  her  service  and  delight, 
All  the  night, 

Sleep!   Sleep!   Sleep! 
And  I'll  whisper  in  her  ear, 

Like  a  bee  among  the  flowers, 
What  (he  loveth  so  to  hear, 

In  the  night's  impassioned  hours, 
News  from  my  warm  heart  to  hers, 
Burthening  Love's  ambassadors, 
6 


82  SONGS    OF    SUMMER. 

A  happy  sigh  and  smile  ; 
Crooning  to  myself  the  while 
Ditties  delicate  and  free, 
Dedicate  to  her,  and  thee, 

Sleep!   Sleep!   Sleep! 
For  I  owe  ye  both  a  boon, 
And  I  meant  to  grant  it  soon, 

In  my  golden  numbers  that   breathe   of  Love   and 
Sleep  ! 


SONGS    OF    SUMMER.  83 


THE  STORK  AND  THE  RUBY. 

A  CERTAIN  prince  —  I  have  forgot  his  name  — 

Playing  one  morning  at  the  archer's  game, 

Within  a  garden  where  his  palace  flood, 

Shot  at  a  ftork,  and  spilled  the  creature's  blood 

For  very  wantonness  and  cruelty. 

Thrice  had  he  pierced  his  target  in  the  eye 

At  fifty  paces  ;  twice  defloured  a  rose, 

Striking  each  time  the  very  leaf  he  chose ; 

Then  he  set  up  his  dagger  in  a  hedge, 

And  split  an  arrow  on  its  glittering  edge. 

What  next  to  hit  he  knew  not.     Looking  round 

He  saw  a  ftork  juft  lighted  on  the  ground, 

To  reft  itself  after  its  leagues  of  flight : 

The  dewy  walk  in  which  it  flood  was  bright, 

So  white  its  plumage,  and  so  clear  its  eyes, 

Twinkling  with  innocence,  and  sweet  surprise. 

"  I'll  fhoot  the  silly  bird,"  the  prince  exclaimed  : 

And  bending  his  ftrong  bow  he  ftraightway  aimed 

His  keeneft  arrow  at  its  panting  heart ; 

The  lucky  arrow  missed  a  vital  part 


84  SONGS    OF    SUMMER. 

(Or  was  it  some  kind  wind  that  pufhed  it  by?) 
And  only  ftruck  and  broke  the  creature's  thigh. 
The  poor  thing  tumbled  in  a  lily  bed, 
And  its  blood  ran,  and  made  the  lilies  red. 
It  marked  the  changing  color  of  the  flowers, 
The  winding  garden  walks,  the  bloomy  bowers, 
And  laft  the  cruel  prince,  who  laughed  with  glee  — 
Fixing  the  picture  in  its  memory  : 
This  done  it  flruggled  up,  and  flew  away, 
Leaving  the  prince  amazed,  and  in  dismay. 

Beyond  the  city  walls,  a  league  or  more, 
A  little  maid  was  spinning  at  her  door, 
Singing  old  songs  to  cheer  the  long  day's  work  : 
Her  name  was  Heraclis.     The  fainting  ftork 
Dropped  at  her  feet,  and  with  its  ebon  bill 
Showed  her  its  thigh,  broken,  and  bleeding  flill : 
She  fetched  it  water  from  a  neighbor  spring, 
And,  while  it  drank  and  warned  each  dabbled  wing, 
She  set  the  fractured  bones  with  pious  care, 
And  bound  them  with  the  fillet  of  her  hair. 
Eased  of  its  pain  again  it  flew  away, 
Leaving  the  maiden  happier  all  the  day. 

That  night  the  prince,  as  usual,  went  to  bed, 
His  royal  wine  a  little  in  his  head  : 
Beside  him  flood  a  cafket  full  of  gems, 


SONGS    OF    SUMMER.  85 

The  spoil  of  conquered  monarchs'  diadems : 

Great  pearls,  milk-white,  and  fhining  like  the  moon  ; 

Emeralds,  grass-green  ;  sapphires,  like  fides  of  June  ; 

Brilliants  that  threw  their  light  upon  the  wall ; 

And  one  great  ruby  that  outfhone  them  all, 

Large  as  a  pigeon's  egg,  and  red  as  wine 

When  held  before  the  sun  —  a  gem  divine  ! 

Through  these  he  ran  his  fingers  carelessly, 

Like  one  who  dips  a  handful  of  the  sea, 

To  sun  his  eyes  with  dripping  ftars  of  brine ; 

At  laft  he  numbered  in  the  pale  moonfhine. 

Meantime  the  watchful  ftork  was  in  his  bowers  ; 

Again  it  saw  its  blood  upon  the  flowers, 

And  saw  the  walks,  the  fountain's  fhaft  in  air, 

But  not  the  cruel  prince ;  no  prince  was  there  : 

So  up  and  down  the  spacious  courts  it  flew, 

And  ever  nearer  to  the  palace  drew. 

Passing  the  lighted  windows,  row  by  row, 

It  saw  the  prince,  and  saw  the  ruby's  glow  : 

Hopping  into  his  chamber,  grave  and  flill, 

It  seized  the  precious  ruby  with  its  bill, 

And  spreading  then  its  rapid  wings  in  flight, 

Flew  out,  and  vanifhed  in  the  yawning  night. 

Night  flowly  passed,  and  morning  broke  again  : 

There  came  a  light  tap  on  the  window-pane 

Of  Heraclis  :   it  woke  her ;   fhe  arose, 

And,  flipping  on  in  hafte  her  peasant  clothes, 


86  SONGS    OF    SUMMER. 

Opened  the  door  to  see  who  knocked,  and  lo  ! 
In  walked  the  ftork  again,  as  white  as  snow, 
Triumphant  with  the  ruby,  whose  red  ray 
Flamed  in  her  face,  anticipating  day ! 
Again  the  creature  pointed  to  its  thigh, 
And  something  human  brightened  in  its  eye, 
A  look  that  said,  "  /  thank  you!  "  plain  as  words 
The  virgin's  look  was  brighter  than  the  bird's, 
So  glad  was  me  to  see  it  was  not  dead  : 
She  ftretched  her  hand  to  ileek  its  bowing  head, 
But  ere  me  could,  it  made  a  sudden  ftand, 
And  thruft  the  priceless  ruby  in  her  hand, 
And  sailing  swiftly  through  the  cottage  door 
Mounted  the  morning  fky,  and  came  no  more  ! 


SONGS    OF    SUMMER.  87 


[ANTIQUE.] 

WE  are  bent  with  age  and  cares, 
In  the  laft  of  our  gray  hairs, 
And  we  lean  upon  our  ftaffs, 
Looking  for  the  epitaphs ; 
For  we  are  the  laft,  the  laft, 
In  the  ruins  of  the  Paft. 

When  our  youth  was  in  its  prime, 

Then  it  was  a  merry  time  ; 

Suns  were  golden,  ftars  were  bright, 

And  the  moon  was  a  delight : 

And  we  wandered  in  its  beams 

In  the  sweeteft,  sweeteft  dreams  ! 

Now  our  dreams  are  fled, 

For  the  happy  Paft  is  dead ; 

And  we  feel  it  lived  in  vain, 

And  will  never  come  again. 

No !   'tis  gone  !   and  gone  each  trace 

Of  its  once-familiar  face  : 


SONGS    OF    SUMMER. 

Even  the  duft  for  which  we  yearn 
Is  loft,  and  loft  its  very  urn ! 
Nothing  remains  except  the  tomb, 

[Earth,  and  heaven,  so  draped  with  clouds  !] 
And  we  who  wander  in  its  gloom, 

And  soon  will  need  our  fhrouds, 
So  pale  are  we,  and  so  aghaft 
At  the  absence  of  the  Paft. 

We  had  friends  when  we  were  young, 
And  we  fhared  their  smiles  and  tears  ; 

But  they  are  forever  flown : 

We  can  only  weep  alone, 
For  the  unreturning  years. 

Roses  come  again  with  Spring  : 
[We  are  ftanding  on  the  tomb, 
But  beneath  our  feet  they  bloom  !] 

And  the  summer  birds  do  sing  : 

But  the  dead  who  loved  them  so, 

They  are  in  the  winter's  snow, 

Far  from  birds,  and  far  from  flowers, 

And  this  weary  life  of  ours. 

All  is  over  !     Naught  remains, 

Save  the  memory  of  our  pains, 

And  the  years  that  bear  us  faft 

To  the  silence  of  the  Paft  ! 


SONGS    OF    SUMMER.  89 


PAIN    IN    AUTUMN. 

A  DROWSY  pain,  a  dull,  dead  pain 
Preys  on  my  heart,  and  clouds  my  brain 
And  fhadows  brood  above  my  dreams, 
Like  spectral  mifts  o'er  haunted  ftreams. 

There  is  no  fire  within  the  grate ; 
The  room  is  cold  and  desolate, 
And  dampness  on  the  window-panes 
Foretells  the  equinoctial  rains. 
The  stony  road  runs  past  the  door, 
Dry  and  dusty  evermore  ; 
Up  and  down  the  people  go, 
Shadowy  figures,  sad  and  flow  : 
And  the  strange  houses  lie  below. 

Across  the  road  the  dark  elms  wait, 
Ranged  in  a  row  before  the  gate, 
Giving  their  voices  to  the  wind, 
And  their  sorrows  to  my  mind. 


90  SONGS    OF    SUMMER. 

Behind  the  house,  the  river  flows, 

Half  unrest  and  half  repose  ; 

Ships  lie  below  with  mildewed  sails, 

Tattered  in  forgotten  gales  ; 

Along  each  hulk  a  whitifh  line, 

The  dafhing  of  the  ancient  brine  : 

Beyond,  the  spaces  of  the  sea, 

Which  old  Ocean's  portals  be  : 

The  land  runs  out  its  horns  of  sand, 

And  the  sea  comes  in  to  meet  the  land. 

Sky  sinks  to  sea,  sea  swells  to  fky, 
Till  they  meet,  and  mock  the  eye  ; 
And  where  they  meet  the  sand  hills  lie ; 
No  cattle  in  their  pastures  seen, 
For  the  yellow  grass  was  never  green  : 
With  a  calm  and  solemn  stare 
They  look  to  heaven,  in  blank  despair ; 
And  heaven,  with  pity  dumb  the  while, 
Looks  down  again  with  a  sickly  smile. 

The  fky  is  gray,  half  dark,  half  bright, 
Swimming  in  dim,  uncertain  light, 
Something  between  the  day  and  night. 
And  the  winds  blow,  but  soft  and  low, 
Unheard,  unheeded  in  their  wo  ; 
Like  some  sick  heart,  too  near  overthrown 


SONGS    OF    SUMMER.  9 1 

To  vent  its  grief,  by  sigh  or  moan, 
Some  heart  that  breaks,  like  mine,  alone  ! 

And  here  I  dwell,  condemned  to  see, 
And  be,  what  all  these  phantoms  be, 
Within  this  realm  of  penal  pain, 
Beside  the  melancholy  main  ; 
The  waste  which  lies,  as  legend  saith, 
Between  the  worlds  of  Life  and  Death  ; 
A  soul  from  Life  to  Death  betrayed, 
A  Shadow  in  the  World  of  Shade  ! 


92  SONGS    OF    SUMMER. 


THE    ABDICATION    OF   NOMAN,  THE   ELDER. 

"/f  //  an  echo  of  something 

Read  with  a  boy"1*  delight. 
Viziers  nodding  together 

In  some  Arabian  night  ?  " 

TENNYSON. 

NOMAN,  the  King  of  Hira,  sat  one  day 
In  his  pavilion,  pitched  at  Karwanak, 
With  Bahram  Gour,  the  son  of  Yezdejird, 
And  Adi  Ibn  Zeid,  the  Persian  bard  : 
Cross-legged  on  scarlet  cufhions  {luffed  with  down 
They  sat  and  smoked  ;  the  bubbling  of  their  pipes 
Was  like  a  river  in  the  land  of  fleep. 
The  curtain  of  the  tent  was  drawn  aside, 
Looped  up  with  golden  cords ;  a  twinkling  gleam 
Glanced  from  the  tassels,  smote  the  water-bowls, 
And  perimed  in  the  great  sea-emerald 
On  Neman's  turban  :   other  light  was  none  j 
They  lolled  the  hours  away  in  purple  dufk. 

Before  the  doorway  of  the  tent  they  saw 


SONGS    OF    SUMMER.  gj 

The  palace  park  and  garden,  bright  with  spring. 

A  pillared  avenue  of  {lately  palms 

Slept  in  the  sun  :  a  fountain  rose  and  fell, 

Breaking  the  silver  surface  at  its  base ; 

Gold-fifh,  like  sunken  ingots,  lay  in  heaps 

Beneath  the  fountain's  rain  ;  beside  its  rim, 

Dipping  his  long  bill  in  a  lotus  cup, 

A  black  crane  {looped  :  between  the  silent  palms 

A  length  of  silken  carpet  was  unrolled  j 

A  white  gazelle  dangled  a  silver  chain, 

Picking  its  way  through  tufts  of  broidered  flowers. 

Flowers  of  all  hues  and  odors  {Ireaked  the  ground  ; 

Roses,  fire-red  ;  large  tulips,  cups  of  flame  ; 

Banks  of  snow  lilies,  turning  dew  to  pearls  ; 

And  rolling  rivers  of  anemonies, 

The  flowers  that  Noman  loved ;  their  crimson  leaves 

Were  rubies  set  on  ftalks  of  emerald. 

Broad  meadows  ftretched  afar,  wherein,  dim-seen 

Through  winking  haze,  the  ftill  Euphrates  lay, 

The  great  Euphrates  fre{h  from  Babylon. 

Between  their  whifFs  of  smoke  with  happy  eyes 
They  drank  the  landscape  in  :  to  Bahram  Gour 
It  grew  his  father's  garden  at  Madain, 
Save  that  the  Emir's  daughter  was  not  there, 
Whereat  he  sighed :   his  long  beard  Adi  ftroked, 
And  thrummed  his  idle  fingers  in  the  air, 


94  SONGS    OF    SUMMER. 

Turning  a  couplet  in  his  tuneful  brain  : 
Noman  alone  was  sad,  for  he  nor  had 
The  poet's  idleness,  nor  prince's  youth  : 
Grown  gray  in  troubled  rule  he  longed  for  reft, 
But  found  it  never ;  fair  things  made  him  grieve, 
Because  their  lives  are  fhort.      He  saw  the  end. 

"  Why  grasp  at  wealth  and  power  ?     Why  hoard 

up  gold, 

Or  make  our  whims  a  law  for  other  men  ? 
Earth  hides  her  gold  in  veined  rocks  and  hills, 
Packs  it  in  river  sands  :  we  dig  it  out, 
And  ftamp  our  kingly  faces  in  its  light, 
And  call  it  ours  :   does  Earth  give  up  her  claim  ? 
Not  (he  ;   me  calmly  waits,  and  takes  it  back. 
We  sift  the  sands,  dive  down  into  the  waves, 
Ransack  the  caves  for  gems  ;  Earth  gives  them  up  : 
I  have  an  hundred  cafkets  full  of  pearls  ; 
Ten  chefts  of  chrysolites  ;  a  turquoise  plate 
That  holds  a  maund  of  corn  ;  a  chandelier, 
The  chains  whereof  are  beryls,  linked  with  gold, 
Its  flame  a  ruby,  found  in  Balafhan : 
Not  mine,  but  Earth's  ;  for  I  mall  pass  away, 
I,  and  my  race,  but  Earth  will  ftill  remain, 
And  keep  my  gems  ;  in  palaces  like  mine, 
To  swell  the  treasury  of  future  kings, 
Or  haply  in  the  caverns  where  they  grew. 


SONGS    OF    SUMMER.  95 

"We  build  rich  palaces,  and  wall  them  in, 
Make    parks    and    gardens    near,    plant    trees,    sow 

flowers, 

And  say  —  '•All  this  Is  ours  !  '  but  what  says  Earth  ? 
She  only  smiles  her  ftill  cold  smile  of  scorn  : 
Forefts  a  thousand  parasangs  in  length 
Are  hers,  and  hers  the  tropic's  zone  of  bloom ; 
And,  when  we  die,  our  marble  palaces  : 
She  lets  the  jackal  prowl  about  their  courts  ! 

u  My  days  have  numbered  five  and  sixty  years  ; 
Twenty  and  eight  were  passed  upon  the  throne  : 
I  count  them  loft.     I  may  have  gained  some  pov/er ; 
Added  a  few  wild  tribes  to  those  I  rule, 
And  treasures  to  my  treasure,  but  my  life  — 
(I  had  so  little  time  to  think  of  that !) 
Is  not  a  whit  the  richer,  save  in  cares. 
Ah  !  who  that  knows  himself  would  be  a  king  ?  " 

So  spake  the  King  the  secret  of  his  heart, 
Like  one  who  babbles  to  himself  alone  ; 
His  head  dropped  on  his  bosom,  and  his  beard 
Hung  in  his  lap  :   the  madow  of  his  words 
Drifted  across  the  ftream  of  Adi's  thought, 
And,  when  the  King  had  ended,  he  began : 

"  Name    me    the   King   whose    power    was    vaft 
enough 


96  SONGS    OF    SUMMER. 

To  cope  with  death,  or  cheat  the  sepulchre. 
\A  hither  is  Chosroes  gone,  the  mightieft,  he, 
Of  Persian  Kings  ?     Whither  did  Sapor  go  ? 
And  they,  the  fair-haired  race,  the  Roman  lords  — 
Tell  me  why  no  memorial  lives  of  them. 
And  he,  the  nameless  King,  who  Hadhr  built, 
Where  Khabur  and  the  lordly  Tigris  flow  ; 
He  faced  his  palace  walks  with  marble  flabs, 
Polimed  and  white,  and  raised  his  roof  so  high, 
His  ridgy  roofs,  the  birds  made  nefts  thereon  : 
The  thought  of  dying  never  crossed  his  mind  ; 
But  not  the  less  he  died,  and  died  alone ; 
For  when  Death  came  to  that  unhappy  King 
The  very  sentinels  had  fled  his  gates." 

"  The  end  of  all  things  muft  be  near  at  hand," 
Said  Bahram  Gour,  half  earneft,  half  in  jeft, 
"  For  lo  !  the  world  hath  now  two  Solomons, 
Whose  wisdom  is  compressed  in  three  small  words, 
The  knell  of  Folly  —  <>All  is  Vanity  !  ' 
It  may  be  so,  my  dear  philosophers, 
But  are  you  free  from  blame  ?     What  says  the  song  ? 
4  //  is  my  sight  that  fails  me,  not  the  rose 
That  waxes  pale ;  my  scent  that  is  too  coarse^ 
No  lack  of  odour  in  the  heavenly  mujk.' 
Cry  down  the  world  who  will,  but  Bahram  Gour 
Will  love  it  ftill."     "And  I,"  the  poet  said, 


SONGS    OF    SUMMER.  97 

His  fancied  sadness  dying  with  the  words 
That  gave  it  birth,  "  and  never  more  than  now, 
When  to  the  quiet  tent  and  drowsy  pipe 
Succeeds  the  eager  life  on  flying  fteeds." 

From  out  their  marble  flails  the  dufky  grooms 
Led  forth  the  royal  ftud  of  milk-white  mares  ; 
The  falconers  came  next  with  hooded  birds, 
Each  with  a  silver  label  on  its  leg ; 
And  then  the  keepers  with  the  beafts  of  chase 
In  chains  ;   lithe  panthers,  and  keen-scented  dogs, 
Tigers,  whose  tawny  hides  are  mapped  with  black, 
And  lions  with  no  manes  :  the  white  gazelle 
Fled  from  their  cruel  eyes  to  Neman's  tent. 
Slowly,  like  one  who  wills  away  a  dream, 
Lifting  his  head  the  King  called  home  his  thoughts. 
He  saw  the  trembling  creature  at  his  feet, 
And  fondled  it ;  the  voice  of  Adi's  lute 
Wooing  a  song  brought  Adi  to  his  mind, 
The  jingling  of  a  scabbard  Bahram  Gour  ; 
Adi  ftill  sat  and  smoked,  but  Bahram  Gour 
Had  risen,  and  was  girding  on  his  sword. 
"  My  sombre  fancies  led  me  from  the  chase ; 
But  now  that  I  have  found  myself  once  more 
Let  us  at  once  depart :  they  wait  for  us." 
He  beckoned,  and  the  grooms  led  up  their  fteeds. 


98  SONGS    OF    SUMMER. 

Between    the    palms,   whose    fhadows    ftruck   their 

brows, 

Launching  across  the  carpet's  bed  of  flowers, 
Around  the  fountain's  glittering  mift  they  rode  : 
The  fretful  panthers  snuffed,  and  tugged  their  chains  ; 
The  calmer  lions,  quiet  in  their  ftrength, 
Strode  on,  and  dragged  their  keepers  after  them. 

Not  far  from  Hira,  by  the  river's  side, 

Where  flood  a  ruined  city,  was  a  tomb  ; 

Between  the  river  and  the  tomb  were  trees 

Whose  twinkling  leaves  were  fhaken  by  the  wind. 

Dropping  the  hunt  before  the  game  was  roused 

Thither  the  King  and  poet  rode  alone ; 

They  saw  the  fhaken  boughs,  but  felt  no  wind. 

"  The  leaves  are  tongues,"  said  Noman,   "  and   they 

speak, 

With  some  grave  message  charged,  or  prophecy  : 
You  read  the  hidden  meaning  of  the  flowers, 
Can  you  expound  the  language  of  the  trees  ?  " 

"  Many  have  here  dismounted  from  their  fteeds, 

And  kneeling  camels,  in  the  days  of  old  ; 

Have  flaked  their  thirft  with  wine  beneath  our  made, 

And  led  their  camels  to  the  limpid  tide  : 

They  ftrained  their  mining  wine  from  precious  flafks, 

They  tossed  the  splendid  trappings  of  their  fteeds  ; 


SONGS    OF    SUMMER.  99 

Gaily  they  lived,  the  pensioners  of  Time ; 
But  ere  life's  noon  they  died,  cut  off  by  Fate. 
Their  afhes  drift  and  wafte  like  withered  leaves, 
Blown  by  the  eaft  wind  now,  now  by  the  weft." 
So  spake  the  trees  to  Adi ;  so  he  spake. 

"All  things  are  in  a  league  with  my  grave  thoughts 
To  make  me  think  of  death,"  replied  the  King : 
"If  leaves  whose  little  lives  of  sun  and  dew 
Laft  not  the  year  out  say  that  man  is  duft, 
What  muft  the  duft,  where  men  by  millions  deep, 
The  dead  of  ages,  say  ?  "     The  poet  ftooped, 
And  scooped  his  two  hands  full  of  dry  white  duft, 
And  held  it  to  his  ear.     "  Interpret  it." 
"  Know  that  the  duft  was  once  a  man  like  thee  ; 
Know  too  that  thou  wilt  one  day  be  but  duft." 
So  spake  the  duft  to  Adi :  so  he  spake. 

"  The  words  are  changed,"   said  Noman,  "  not  the 

tune, 

For  that  ftill  urges  man's  mortality : 
When  man  forgets  his  end,  nor  earth  nor  heaven 
Can  hold  their  peace.     The  tomb  remains  to  speak  \ 
I  go  to  queftion  that :  wait  for  me  here. 
Fear  not  to  see  me  enter  its  dark  walls ; 
The  time  will  come  when  they  will  {hut  me  in 
Forever :  now  I  fhall  return  again." 


IOO  SONGS    OF    SUMMER. 

He  waved  the  poet  back,  and  throwing  wide 
Its  mouldering  doors  went  down  into  the  tomb. 

Before  the  place,  a  watchful  sentinel, 

The  poet  paced  his  beat,  with  noiseless  fteps, 

Hearkening  the  while  to  catch  the  King's  leaft  call : 

He  heard  the  talking  leaves  above  his  head, 

The  river  rippling  on  the  sandy  more, 

But  not  the  King :  the  grass  was  growing  thick 

Around  the  tomb,  but  where  the  mares  were  hitched 

It  grew  not :  cutting  with  his  sword  a  swath, 

He  bore  an  armful  to  the  hungry  mares  : 

But  ftill  the  King  nor  called  to  him,  nor  came. 

At  laft  the  fiery  arrows  of  the  noon 

Drove  back  the  lessening  fhadows  of  the  trees, 

And  hemmed  them  in  a  circle  round  their  trunks  ; 

To  this  the  bard  retreated  from  the  heat. 

The  happy  light  came  down  upon  his  heart, 

Arid,  ftretched  at  ease,  he  sang  a  summer  song : 

"  The  morning  moon  is  set,  the  ftars  are  gone ; 
Beside  the  palace  gate  the  peacocks  ftrut, 
And  in  the  tank  the  early  lotus  wakes. 

"  The  dew  fell  all  night  long,  and  drenched  my  robe  ; 
The  nightingale  complained  to  me,  in  vain: 
I  waited  for  the  dawn  to  meet  my  love. 


SONGS    OF    SUMMER.  JOI 

"  She  ftands  before  me  in  the  garden  walk, 
Her  blue  robe  bordered  by  a  fringe  of  pearls  ; 
She  offers  me  a  rose  :   I  kneel  to  her. 

"  c  Nay !    speak  not  yet,   though  all  your  words  are 

pearls  ! 

Your  smiles  outrun  your  speech,  and  greet  me  firft ; 
But  when  you  smile  not,  speak,  or  I  mail  die ! 

"  '  I  kiss  the  rose  :  I  would  it  were  your  lips  ! 
But  wherefore  ?   such  a  kiss  would  end  my  days. 
Pity  me,  sweet ;  my  heart  is  at  your  feet !  ' 

"  My  long  black  hair  is  ftreaked  with  silver  threads, 
Years  dim  my  eyes  ;  yet  ftill,  in  thought,  I  see 
The  Rose  of  Beauty  in  the  garden  walk. 

"  She  fleeps  the  long,  long  fleep  :   disturb  her  not 

O  nightingales  !   be  silent,  or  depart ; 

And  thou  my  heart  be  ftill,  or  moan,  and  break." 

The  river  rippled  louder,  but  the  leaves 
Crowding  together  whispered,  and  the  clam 
Shook  one  at  Adi's  feet ;  the  duft  was  ftirred  : 
He  raised  his  eyes,  and  lo !   a  cloud  of  duft 
Blown  from  the  clattering  hoofs  of  flying  fteeds  : 
He  knew  the  milk-white  mares,  and  knew  the  troop 


102  SONGS    OF    SUMMER. 

That    rode    them  —  Neman's    huntsmen;    Bahram 

Gour 

Trailing  his  spear  rode  wildly  at  their  head. 
"  The  King  is  loft,"  he  fhouted  as  he  came  : 
"  Not  so,'-'  said  Adi,  pointing  to  the  tomb, 
"  The  King  is  there :   he  muses  in  the  tomb  ; 
Perchance  he  fleeps  :  I  would  have  (hared  his  dreams, 
But  he  forbade,  and  made  me  wait  him  here." 
Then  Bahram  Gour  went  down  into  the  tomb, 
To  wake  the  King,  and  many  of  the  lords 
Went   with   him ;    those   who   flayed    behind   were 

hufhed. 

They  heard  the  talking  leaves  above  their  heads, 
The  river  rippling  on  the  sandy  more, 
But  not  the  King ;  at  length  a  voice  was  heard  — 
"  The  King  is  dead"  and  Bahram  Gour  came  out 
Bearing  a  lifeless  body  in  his  arms. 


SONGS    OF    SUMMER.  J03 


THE    MOON   ON   THE   SPIRE. 

THE  white  clouds  lie  in  drifts  to-night 
Around  the  moon,  whose  silver  fire 
Kindles  the  old  Cathedral  spire, 

And  makes  the  cross  a  living  light. 

It  gleams  and  twinkles  through  my  blinds, 
It  mines  on  those  who  walk  the  ftreet, 
It  opens  heaven  to  those  who  meet 

At  vespers  with  believing  minds. 

"  How  marvellous  the  Cross,"  they  say, 
"  That  crowns  the  {lately  ChrifHan  pile  ! 
It  lends  the  moon  a  saintly  smile, 

It  saves  the  world  from  day  to  day." 

Ye  speak  your  thoughts,  but  I  who  sit 

Above  the  crowd,  and  watch  the  moon  — 
I  hear  from  her  cold  lips  a  tune 

To  other  words  :  and  this  is  it : 


IO4  SONGS    OF    SUMMER. 

"  My  crescent  glitters  in  the  air, 

Above  the  mosque  of  Moslem  lands  : 
High  in  his  tower  the  muezzin  ftands, 

And  calls  the  faithful  there  to  prayer. 

"By  Indian  ftreams,  and  swamps  of  rice, 
Pagodas  rise,  and  idols  frown  : 
I  pour  my  heathen  brightness  down, 

And  make  the  night  a  Paradise. 

"  Pagoda,  mosque,  and  Chriftian  dome, 
I  see  them  all ;  in  all  the  flame 
Ofworfhip  burns:   God  sees  the  same 

God  has  in  each  and  all  his  home." 


SONGS    OF    SUMMER.  105 


THE    GRAVE    OF    ROBIN    HOOD. 

BESIDE  this  oak,  below  this  mound, 
In  this  unconsecrated  ground, 
This  dim,  remote,  negle&ed  wood, 
He  fleeps,  they  tell  me  —  Robin  Hood. 
This  is  his  grave ;  they  laid  him  here, 
That  left  not  in  the  world  his  peer : 
Here  doth  his  body  go  to  duft ; 
His  soul  hath  gone  to  God,  I  truft. 

He  was  a  knight  in  days  of  yore, 
A  lord,  or  earl,  or  may  be  more, 
Who  forfeited  his  right  divine, 
When  Richard  fought  in  Paleftine. 
But  we  who  come  from  o'er  the  sea 
Care  nothing  for  his  pedigree ; 
That  mam  with  us  is  out  of  date, 
A  bugbear  of  the  feudal  ftate ; 
Nor  will  it  ever  win  again 

o 

The  fear  or  love  of  freeborn  men. 
It  is  enough  for  us  that  he 


106  SONGS    OF    SUMMER. 

Himself  was  noble,  brave,  and  free  : 
We  leave  the  reft  to  fools  and  knaves, 
Who  build  upon  their  fathers'  graves. 
So,  whether  lord,  or  whether  earl, 
Or  but  a  base  and  common  churl, 
He  was  a  noble  man  and  good, 
The  King  of  Outlaws,  Robin  Hood. 
He  ftayed  to  hear  his  banimment, 
And  then  to  Sherwood  Foreft  went, 
Followed  by  fourscore  archers  keen, 
In  liveries  of  Lincoln  green, 
All  famous  marksmen,  ftout  and  tall ; 
And  he  was  chief  among  them  all, 
For  he  could  peel  a  willow  wand, 
And  fight  the  beft  man  in  the  land. 
And  there  they  dwelt  for  many  a  year, 
And  lived  upon  the  royal  deer. 

Methinks  I  see  them,  blithe  and  gay, 
Feafting  upon  a  summer's  day; 
The  tables  groan  with  hearty  cheer 
Of  beef,  to  Englimmen  so  dear, 
Juicy,  and  rare  ;  and  venison  fteaks ; 
Cold  warden  pies,  and  sugared  cakes, 
And  pafties  filled  with  lark  and  quail, 
Flanked  round  with  cans  of  foaming  ale. 
And  in  the  fhadow  of  a  tree, 


SONGS    OF    SUMMER. 

Whose  boughs  do  make  a  canopy, 
Upon  his  dais  sits  Robin  Hood, 
The  merry  monarch  of  the  wood, 
With  sweet  Maid  Marian  at  his  side, 
By  virtue  of  her  grace  and  pride 
The  miftress  there,  so  debonair, 
With  knots  of  wild  flowers  in  her  hair. 
She  twines  his  cup  ;  nor  only  me, 
But  near  a  many  damsels  be, 
Sipping  the  cups  of  clouted  cream, 
While  lifted  goblets  clam  and  gleam. 
And  close  beside  the  wine-butt  ftands 
Friar  John  :   his  beads  are  in  his  hands, 
But  put  not  to  their  goodly  use  : 
His  cowl  is  off,  his  girdle  loose  ; 
To  twift  it  tight  he  vainly  tries  : 
He  rolls  to  heaven  his  amorous  eyes, 
And  chants  a  mass,  which  breaks  ere  long 
Into  a  jolly  drinking-song  ! 

So  passed  the  days  of  feaft  and  fun, 

The  careless  children  of  the  sun  ; 

But  sober  hours  succeeded  soon, 

And  music  of  a  sweeter  tune. 

The  maidens  sat  in  summer  bowers, 

And  sang  old  songs,  and  gathered  flowers, 

Or  hunted  round  for  hollow  trees, 


107 


108  SONGS    OF    SUMMER. 

To  rob  the  hives  of  wandering  bees. 
Their  {hafts  and  bows  the  archers  made. 
And  fhot  at  targets  in  the  made ; 
Wreftled  and  fought  with  right  good  will, 
And  practised  games  of  ftrength  and  fkill ; 
While  Robin  Hood,  bold  Robin  Hood, 
In  solemn  fancies  walked  the  wood, 
Till  all  the  freedom  of  the  place 
Did  fill  his  heart,  and  light  his  face  ! 

Had  he  been  queftioned,  frank  and  fair, 

About  his  right  and  title  there, 

He  would  have  answered  with  a  smile, 

In  something  like  the  following  ftyle  : 

"  My  right  and  title  ?     Sir,  do  you 

The  vexed  subject  ftill  renew 

Of  what  is  mine  and  what  is  thine, 

When  both  are  mortal,  and  divine? 

'Od's  blood  !  we  all  are  men,  I  guess, 

And  none  are  more,  and  none  are  less, 

By  birth  and  right ;  if  you  or  I 

Say  we  are  more,  we  do  but  lie  ! 

The  world  is  ours,  despite  the  few 

Who  lay  and  hold  a  claim  thereto. 

If  'tis  our  privilege  and  right 

To  breathe  the  air,  and  see  the  light, 

'Tis  ours  to  dwell  where'er  we  please, 


SONGS    OF    SUMMER. 

In  cities,  towns,  or  under  trees, 

Provided  none  are  dispossessed, 

For  sure  we  would  not  rob  the  reft  : 

Now  none,  good  Sir,  are  oufted  here, 

And  none  are  hurt  —  save  good  fat  deer; 

If  any  mould  complain  'tis  they, 

As,  without  doubt,  some  will  to-day : 

For,  under  favor,  Sir,  'tis  meet 

That  men,  tall  men  like  us  mould  eat. 

As  for  the  King,  why,  it  may  be 

That  venison  is  his  property ; 

But  let  him  mow  his  rightful  claim, 

The  Bill  of  Sale  in  Nature's  name, 

The  lease  divine,  he  holds  in  fee, 

Forever  dispossessing  me, 

Condemned  to  bread,  which  I,  poor  man, 

Muft  get  —  the  beft  way  that  I  can  ! 

And  let  him  prove  his  claim  by  law, 

In  fterling  Englifh  without  flaw, 

And  I  will  yield  his  ground  to-day, 

And  heavy  damages  will  pay ; 

But  till  he  does,  I  have  a  right 

As  good  as  his  —  the  rule  of  Might. 

So  forward  !  hunt  the  kingly  deer, 

And  hey,  for  feafting,  dance  and  cheer  ! 

I'll  talk  to  you  some  other  day, 

And  so,  your  servant.     Boys,  away  !  " 


IIO  SONGS    OF    SUMMER. 

So  would,  methinks,  brave  Robin  Hood 

Have  proved  his  right  and  title  good, 

To  curious  queftioners,  and  they 

Persifting  ftill,  another  way 

He  would  have  ta'en  to  make  it  plain, 

And  drawn  an  arrow  to  the  head ; 

A  moft  convincing  thing,  'tis  said. 

But  few  had  flayed  to  hear,  I  ween, 

An  argument  so  sure  and  keen. 

And  faith,  I  think  the  knave  was  right : 

But  right  or  not,  he  had  the  Might, 

And  he  maintained  it  till  he  died, 

By  Might  opposed  on  every  side, 

A  merry  outlaw,  bold  and  free, 

The  very  Lord  of  Liberty  ! 

And  is  this  all  the  outlaw  did  ? 

And  is  there  nothing  evil  hid  ? 

There  surely  muft  be  something  more, 

Some  cloud  that  mould  have  come  before. 

There  is  some  little  talk,  indeed, 

Of  how  he  made  the  keepers  bleed  j 

Some  end  to  some  old  fherirPs  hope, 

Before  he  could  adjuft  the  rope  : 

Some  talk  of  priefts,  and  bifhops  old 

He  eased  of  certain  sums  of  gold  ; 

Some  fight,  perchance,  againft  the  King, 


SONGS    OF    SUMMER.  Ill 

Some  victory,  or  some  such  thing : 

But  nought  of  blood  unjufHy  fhed, 

Nor  tax  on  malt,  nor  tax  on  bread, 

Nor  pious  frauds  of  holy  sees, 

Whose  bifhops  roll  in  golden  ease, 

Nor  mooting  starving  men  that  dare 

Molest  his  lordmip's  deer  or  hare: 

Nothing  that  one  to-day  may  do, 

And  still  be  lawful,  good,  and  true, 

Or  hosts  would  wear  a  branded  brow 

In  lawful,  merry  England  now. 

Then  let  us,  if  you  please,  be  free 

From  cant  and  prim  hypocrisy, 

Nor  lift  our  hands  in  perfect  prayer, 

For  flem  is  sinful  everywhere ; 

And  few,  that  dare,  had  'scaped  his  crimes, 

Had  they  been  living  in  his  times, 

Banimed  like  him,  and  hunted  down 

By  all  the  minions  of  a  crown. 

So  let  him  rest,  nor  dare  to  breathe 

Calumnious  airs  to  blight  his  wreath  ; 

But  rather  pile  your  marbles  round, 

And  make  this  forest  holy  ground, 

That  men  may  come  from  far  and  near, 

To  reverence  him  who  (lumbers  here ; 

For  none  for  man's  best  rights  have  stood, 

More  manfully  than  Robin  Hood, 

The  brave  old  freeman,  Robin  Hood  ! 


112  SONGS    OF    SUMMER. 


THE   CHILDREN'S   PRAYER. 

IF  there  is  any  thing  that  will  endure 

The  eye  of  God,  because  it  still  is  pure, 

It  is  the  spirit  of  a  little  child, 

Frefh  from  his  hand,  and  therefore  undefiled. 

Nearer  the  gate  of  Paradise  than  we, 

Our  children  breathe  its  airs,  its  angels  see; 

And  when  they  pray,  God  hears  their  simple  prayer, 

Yea,  even  meathes  his  sword,  in  judgment  bare  : 

Witness  this  legend  of  a  by-gone  time, 

Itself  a  song,  though  yet  untold  in  rhyme. 

Where  stretches  Egypt,  and  its  gardens  smile, 
Won  from  the  desert  by  the  lordly  Nile, 
Famine  and  Pestilence  went  hand  in  hand 
Of  old,  and  ravaged  that  unhappy  land  ; 
For  lo  !  the  Nile,  wherein  its  plenty  lies, 
The  fertilizing  Nile  forgot  to  rise  : 
Day  after  day  it  lay,  a  fluggifh  flood, 
And  flimy  monsters  wallowed  in  its  mud. 
When  spread  the  news,  and  ill  news  fly  apace, 
A  fearful  panic  seized  the  Moslem  race ; 


SONGS    OF    SUMMER.  113 

For  not  alone  its  native  tribes  it  fed, 

But  all  the  Eaft  to  Egypt  looked  for  bread. 

In  Cairo  firft,  there  moft  improvident, 

Then  in  the  towns,  and  in  the  wandering  tent, 

Under  the  palms,  by  many  a  fhrunken  well, 

Fainting  they  fell,  and  perimed  where  they  fell. 

At  firft  they  merely  ftarved  ;  but  by  and  by 
A  dread  infection  brooded  in  the  fky  ; 
There  was  no  time  to  ftarve,  with  every  breath 
They  drew  in  death,  a  tainted,  loathsome  death. 
All    business    ceased ;    bazaars   and    mosques    were 

closed  : 

Somewhere  about  his  tower  the  muezzin  dozed  ; 
Was  heard  no  more  his  cry,  (it  was  too  late  !) 
"  There  is  no  God  but  God!   Lo  !   God  is  Great!  " 
No  more  the  faithful  bowed  towards  the  Eaft  : 
Was  kept  no  more  the  Bairam's  sacred  feaft  : 
(The  fafts,  alas !   they  could  not  help  but  keep  !) 
The  land  was  fhrouded  in  a  deathly  fleep. 
You   might   have   walked   through  Cairo,   ftreet   by 

ftreet, 

Nor  met  a  soul ;   'twere  better  not  to  meet : 
The  flying  thief,  the  murderer  abhorred, 
Or  plague-ftruck  beggars  —  such  were  those  abroad. 

At  length  a  fheik  remembered  what  was  writ, 
(Through  faith,  not  doubt,  had  he  forgotten  it :) 
That —  "  Children  are  the  keys  of  Paradise." 


114  SONGS    OF    SUMMER. 

Also  that  —  "  They  alone  are  good  and  wise, 
Because  their  thoughts^  their  very  lives  are  prayer '." 
He  sought  the   mosque,  summoned  the  people  there, 
Told  them  his  thought,  and  made  its  meaning  plain, 
That  they  by  childifh  lips  mould  pray  again. 
'Twas  said,  and  done :   the  Emir  gave  command, 
And  flraight  the  muezzins  sang  it  through  the  land. 

The  hour  was  fixed  at  dawn  ;  at  lafl  dawn  came  : 
Slowly  the  sun  arose,  a  globe  of  flame 
Struggling  with  blood-red  clouds  :   in  every  flreet 
Was  seen  a  crowd,  was  heard  the  tramp  of  feet : 
Around  the  mosques  they  gathered  with  a  sigh, 
Waiting  to  know  if  they  mould  live  or  die  ! 
The  Imauns  crowned  the  babes  with  early  flowers, 
And  bore  them  up  the  minarets  and  towers, 
Even  to  their  topmofl  summits,  where  they  flood, 
And  saw  the  Pyramids  and  Nile's  black  flood, 
And  Cairo  at  their  feet,  a  breathless  mass, 
Dying  to  hear  them  pray,  and  see  what  came  to  pass  ! 
It  was  a  beautiful,  but  solemn  sight 
To  mark  the  trembling  children  robed  in  white, 
Painted  againfl  the  red  and  angry  fky, 
Stretching  their  arms  to  Him  who  dwells  on  high ! 
But  there  they  flood,  and  there  they  knelt  and  prayed, 
And  from  that  hour  the  peflilence  was  flayed  ; 
For  while  they  prayed  there  came  a  rum  of  wind 
That  rent  the  clouds,  and  mowed  the  sun  behind  ; 


SONGS    OF    SUMMER.  115 

They  saw  its  broad,  bright  light,  and  seemed  to  hear 

The  wave  of  palms,  the  flow  of  waters  near. 

Ah  yes  !   'twas  true  :  the  Nile  began  to  rise, 

As  if  its  springs  were  fed  from  the  benignant  fides  ! 

It  rose,  and  rolled,  and  ran  before  the  breeze, 

Its  long  waves  furrowed  like  the  ftormy  seas  ; 

Its  mud  was  swept  away:  its  monfters  sank: 

It  swayed  and  snapped  the  reeds  along  the  bank, 

Raging  and  roaring,  rising  higher  and  higher, 

Far-flaming  in  the  sun,  a  fheet  of  windy  fire  ! 

All  wept  with  joy.     And  now  there  came  a  man 

Wild  with  good  news  ;  he  fhouted  as  he  ran 

u  There  Is  no  God  but  God !  Lo  !   God  is  Great  ' 

There  Jlands  a  row  of  camels  at  the  gate, 

Laden  for  all  with  sacks  of  wheat  and  grain.9* 

They  fell  upon  their  knees,  and  wept  again  ; 

But  they,  the  children,  meek,  and  undefiled, 

Marched  through  the  ftreets,  and  clapped  their  hands, 

and  smiled  : 

Nor  was  there  longer  plague  or  famine  there, 
Thanks  be  to  God,  who  heard  the  children's  prayer  ! 


]j6  SONGS    OF    SUMMER. 


STANZAS. 

I  OFTEN  wifh  that  I  could  know 

The  fate  in  ftore  for  me, 
The  measure  of  my  joy  and  woe  — 

The  man  that  I  mall  be. 
I  .do  not  fear  to  meet  the  worft 

The  gathering  years  can  give  ; 
My  life  has  been  a  life  accurft 

From  youth,  and  yet  I  live. 
The  Future  may  be  overcaft, 
But  never  darker  than  the  Paft. 

My  mind  will  grow  as  years  depart, 

With  all  the  winged  hours  ; 
And  all  my  buried  seeds  of  Art 

Will  bloom  again  in  flowers  ; 
But  buried  hopes  no  more  will  bloom, 

As  in  the  days  of  old  ; 
My  youth  is  lying  in  its  tomb, 

My  heart  is  dead  and  cold  ! 
And  certain  sad,  but  nameless  cares 
Have  flecked  mv  locks  with  silver  hairs, 


SONGS    OF    SUMMER. 

No  bitter  feeling  clouds  my  grief, 

No  angry  thoughts  of  thee  ; 
For  thou  art  now  a  faded  leaf 

Upon  a  fading  tree. 
From  day  to  day  I  see  thee  sink 

From  love,  and  faith,  and  truth  ; 
I  sigh,  but  dare  not  bid  thee  think 

Of  what  thou  wert  in  youth  : 
For  oh  !  the  thought  of  what  thou  art 
Muil  be  a  hell  within  thy  heart ! 

My  life  is  full  of  care  and  pain> 

My  heart  of  old  desires  ; 
But  living  embers  yet  remain 

Below  its  dying  fires  : 
Nor  do  I  fear  what  all  the  years 

May  have  in  ftore  for  me, 
For  I  have  warned  away  with  tears 

The  blots  of  Memory  : 
But  thou — despite  the  love  on  high  — 
What  is  there  left  thee  but  to  die ! 


Il8  SONGS    OF    SUMMER. 


BY  the  margent  of  the  sea 

I  would  build  myself  a  home, 
Where  the  mighty  waters  be, 

On  the  edges  of  their  foam  ; 
Ribs  of  sands  mould  be  the  mounds 
In  my  grounds  : 

My  grasses  mould  be  ocean  weeds, 
Strung  with  pulpy  beads  ; 
And  my  blossoms  mould  be  ihells, 

Bleaching  white, 
Warned  from  ocean's  deeped  cells 

By  the  billows  mom  and  night. 
Morn  and  night  —  in  both  their  light, 

Up  and  down  the  paven  sand, 
I  would  tramp,  while  Day's  great  lamp 

Rose  or  set,  on  sea  and  land, 
Through  a  sea  of  vapours  dark 
Glimmering,  like  a  burning  bark, 
Drifting  o'er  its  yawning  tomb 
With  a  red  and  lurid  gloom  ! 


SONGS    OF    SUMMER.  I  19 

Seldom  fhould  the  morning's  gold 
On  the  waters  be  unrolled  ; 
Or  the  troubled  queen  of  night 
Lift  her  mifty  veil  of  light. 
Neither  wholly  dark,  nor  bright. 
Gray  by  day,  and  gray  by  night  — 
That's  the  light,  the  fky  for  me, 
By  the  margent  of  the  sea. 

From  my  window,  when  I  rose 

In  the  morning,  I  would  mark 
The  gray  sea  in  its  endless  throes, 

And  many  a  bark. 
As  I  watched  the  pallid  sails, 

Bearing  naught  to  me  or  mine, 
I  would  conjure  up  the  gales 

Soon  to  draggle  them  in  brine  : 
Then,  my  cloak  about  my  face, 
Up  and  down  the  sands  I'd  pace, 
Making  footprints  for  the  spray 
To  wash  away. 

Waves  might  break  along  the  shore, 
And  thunders  roar ; 
I  should  only  hear  aghaft 
The  solemn  moaning  of  the  Paft  ! 
And  if  ftorms  should  come,  and  rain 

Pour  in  torrents  down  the  fky, 


I2O  SONGS    OF    SUMMER. 

What  care  I  ? 
What  cares  any  one  in  pain  ? 

Are  not  tears  still  wrung  from  me, 
Woe  is  me  !   and  all  in  vain, 
Falling  faster  than  the  rain 

In  the  sea. 
But  it  would  be  over  then, 

And  I  would  no  longer  weep  : 
Grief  is  for  the  sea  of  men  ; 

By  God's  ocean  it  mult  fleep. 
Happy,  happy  would  I  be 
By  the  margent  of  the  sea ! 

Up  and  down  the  barren  beaches ; 

Round  the  ragged  belts  of  land  j 
In  along  the  curving  reaches  ; 

Out  along  the  horns  of  sand  : 
Over  the  ledges  of  the  rocks, 
Where  the  surges  comb  their  locks, 
And  their  wreathed  buds  remain, 
Not  to  bloom  again  ; 
Many  a  league  and  hour  I  stray 
And  watch  the  madness  of  the  spray. 

The  caverns  in  its  hollow  wall : 
Its  flame-like  currents  mounting  flow  ; 
Its  rounding  crest  of  frothy  snow  ; 

Its  crumbling  fall : 


SONGS    OF    SUMMER.  121 

The  climbing  sun  in  light  betrayed 

By  a  spot  of  thinnest  shade  ; 

The  tossing  foam,  the  wandering  plain 

Of  the  melancholy  main  ; 

The  sea-mew  darting  everywhere, 

Now  on  the  water,  and  now  in  the  air, 

Vexing  me  with  frantic  scream, 

Like  a  phantom  in  a  dream  — 

In  dreams  I  do  behold  them  all, 

Mixed  with  wave  and  wind  ; 
But  hardly  know,  so  strange  they  seem, 

With  such  thoughts  combined, 
Whether  I  behold  them  there, 
Or  the  sorrow  and  despair 

In  my  mind, 

Wandering  where  its  tortures  be, 
By  the  margent  of  the  sea  ! 


122  SONGS    OF    SUMMER, 


CHORIC    HYMN. 

I. 

THE  little  birds  awake  at  peep  of  day, 

When  soft  winds  shake  their  nests,  and  leaves  are 

stirred ; 

The  buds  unseal  their  lids  beneath  the  spray, 
Called  by  the  dews,  by  mortal  ears  unheard  j 
But  thou,  though  we  have  called  thee,  over-loud, 
Thrice  with  our  shrillest  voices,  thou  art  mute  : 

But  v/e  will  touch  the  lute, 

And  melt  the  dream  that  wraps  thee  like  a  cloud. 
We  passed  along  the  borders  of  the  vale, 
And  peeped  into  it  from  the  misty  hill ; 
Far  in  its  depths  we  heard  the  nightingale 
Muffled  in  song  :  we  hear  him  singing  still. 
We  sat  together  all  in  thoughtful  rest, 
Last  eve,  and  watched  the  golden  chaff  of  light, 
The  sheaves  of  sunset,  bounden  in  the  West, 
Stored  in  the  closing  garners  of  the  Night : 
And  when  pale  Hesperos  with  silver  crook 
Led  forth  his  starry  flock  from  out  their  fold, 


SONGS    OF    SUMMER.  123 

We  wept  together  in  the  bofky  nook, 

And  linked  our  hearts  with  kisses,  each  thrice  told. 

Hast  thou  forgot  our  kisses,  and  thine  own  ? 

(We  dreamed  of  those  sweet  kisses  all  the  night !) 

Forgot  thy  loving  maidens,  chaste  and  white  ? 

Forgot  the  vale,  whose  depths  are  yet  unknown  ? 

It  cannot  be  !     Awake,  and  answer  "  No  !  " 

O,  say  us  "  No  !  "  or  we  must  wake,  and  weep  : 

Give  us  a  little  sign,  before  we  go, 

That  we  are  not  forgotten  in  thy  fleep  : 

Think  of  us,  one  and  all,  as  we  of  thee, 

Both  now  and  evermore,  Persephone. 

II. 

Hearken  !  our  lutes  are  strung  with  silver  wires, 

That  nicely  suit  the  strain ; 

Our  voices  melt  therein,  like  soft  desires, 

Or  South  winds  dying  in  a  vernal  rain. 

The  fky-lark  listens  in  the  woods  apart, 

Since  twilight  fleeping  in  the  falling  dew, 

And  hoards  our  music  in  his  brimming  heart, 

Meaning  a  sweet  repayment  from  the  blue. 

But  thou  art  bound  in  {lumber,  deaf  to  all, 

Mute  as  a  little  maid  beneath  her  pall, 

Heedless  of  dear  ones  coming  there  to  weep, 

Locked  in  the  cold  and  everlasting  fleep. 

If  such  should  be  thy  fleep,  O  what  should  we 


124  SONGS    OF    SUMMER. 

Say  to  Demeter,  in  her  woe  divine  ? 

And  to  our  hearts,  and  all  that  afk  and  pine, 

For  all  would  then  demand  their  lost  Persephone  ? 

III. 

Hark  !   hear  ye  not  a  stirring  in  her  bower, 

A  rustling  in  the  dimness  of  the  leaves  ? 

Ah  yes !  and  see,  the  morning  in  its  eaves, 

Braids  through  the  twinkling  green  a  golden  shower. 

Strike  all  your  lutes  again,  and  break  the  bands 

That  Sleep  has  woven  round  her  in  the  night ; 

Let  melting  Music  with  its  loving  hands 

Slowly  unwind  his  tangled  fkeins  of  light. 

Up-gathering  all  thy  poppies,  drowsy-sweet, 

And  all  thy  syrop-urns  of  mandragore, 

Fly  !   Morpheos,  fly  !   ere  Morning's  winged  feet, 

Fire-sandalled,  bear  him  to  thy  palace-door, 

Where,  waiting  thee,  thy  Dreams 
Still  linger,  blinded  by  his  dazzling  beams, 
Fly  !  Morpheos,  fly  !   with  heavy-lidded  eyes  : 
The  night  is  done,  the  maiden  would  arise. 

O  ' 

Awake  Persephone  !   the  finches  round 
Chirp  to  the  swallows,  twittering  overhead  ; 
And  little  crickets  answer  from  the  ground, 
Hidden  in  tufted  mosses,  crisp  and  red. 
Awake  !   awake  !  let  fluggards  weak  and  gray 
Before  their  time,  drowse  out  the  morning  hours  ; 


SONGS    OF    SUMMER.  125 

Health-loving  maids  are  up  before  the  day, 
To  trample  in  the  dew,  and  gather  flowers. 
Flowers  grow  around  in  myriads,  even  here, 
In  this  dark  forest,  beaded  thick  with  dew ; 
They  call  for  thee,  within  thy  spirit's  ear, 
And  all  the  happy  birds  are  calling  too, 
And  we  thy  loving  maids,  so  dear  to  thee  : 
Then  wake  and  rise,  O  rise,  divine  Persephone  ! 

1849. 


126  SONGS    OF    SUMMER. 


THE    FISHER   AND    CHARON. 

WHERE  wild  Laconia  juts  into  the  sea 

The  fiiher  Diotimus  had  his  home ; 

Between  the  waters  and  the  woods  it  ftood, 

A  wattled  hut,  whose  floor  was  ftrewn  with  leaves 

And  crisp  dry  sea-weeds  :  when  the  tide  came  in 

The  surf  ran  up  the  beach,  even  to  the  door. 

Here  lived  the  fimer  and  his  aged  wife, 

Doro,  his  second  self;  me  on  the  land, 

And  he  upon  the  sea,  their  long  lives  passed. 

He  rose  at  early  dawn  and  dragged  his  boat 

Down  to  the  water's  edge,  threw  in  his  oars, 

His  lines,  and  bait,  and  then  with  lufty  ftrokes 

Pulled  out  into  the  gulf  through  clouds  of  mifr.. 

The  cold  dark  waves  set  fhoreward,  edged  with  foam, 

The    dark   rocks   rose,   and  dipt,   and  passed    from 

sight : 

At  laft  day  came.     All  day  he  rowed,  and  fifhed, 
Now  at  his  lines,  now  sweating  at  the  oar : 
Meantime  his  old  wife  Doro  sat  at  home, 
Mending  his  nets,  or  spinning  in  the  sun. 


SONGS    OF    SUMMER.  127 

From  more  to  fhore  he  knew  the  gulf,  the  rocks, 
The  curling  eddies  and  the  isles  of  weed  ; 
He  knew  the  haunts  and  habits  of  the  fifh, 
How  beft  to  catch  them,  and  the  bait  they  loved  ; 
The  sea-birds  too,  his  fellow  fimers,  they, 
He  knew  them  all.     From  Tenarus  to  Crete, 
And  where  the  beaches  of  Egilia  break 
The  mining  surge,  which  dies  among  their  mells, 
He  tracked  the  scaly  tenants  of  the  deep. 
The  summer  smote  him  with  its  fiercer!  fires, 
Burned  his  old  face,  and  browned  his  sinewy  arms  ; 
The  winter  nipt  him  with  its  frill  cold  wind, 
And  drenched  his  cloak  of  mats  with  colder  rain ; 
For  days  he  saw  no  sun,  so  thick  the  clouds  : 
But  cloud  or  sun  he  put  to  sea  at  dawn 
Fearless,  and  with  the  dufk  of  eve  returned  ; 
The  sunset  was  a  torch  to  light  him  home  ; 
His  boat  was  guided  by  its  golden  flare 
Straight  to  the  more  :   he  saw  his  hut  afar, 
And  Doro  on  the  sands  :  she  beckoned  him  : 
His  sharp  keel  cut  the  waves,  and,  ere  its  wake 
Sank  in  the  blackness,  grated  on  the  sand. 

They  lived  the  common  life  of  little  things 
Summed  up  in  poverty :   like  waves  the  days, 
The  years  went  by,  each  day  and  year  alike, 
The  laft  alone  remembered.     They  were  young  ; 
Then  crooked  wrinkles  crept  about  their  eyes  : 


128  SONGS    OF    SUMMER. 

Then  they  were  old.     They  lived,  and   loved,  and 

died. 

One  autumn  day,  when  tropic  birds  flew  home, 
The  fisher  sat  beside  his  dying  wife : 
She  lay  upon  a  couch  of  withered  leaves 
That  ruftled  as  she  moved ;  above  her  hung 
A  coil  of  line,  with  sea-weed  on  its  hooks ; 
A  wicker  bafket  was  the  fisher's  seat : 
Their  dim  eyes  met,  and  both  with  tears  were  wet. 
"  Hereafter,  Doro,  I  shall  weep  alone," 
Said  Diotimus.     "  Not  alone,"  she  moaned, 
"  For  I  shall  walk  the  solemn  shore  of  death 
In  tears  till  you  shall  come  :  "  she  clutched  his  knee, 
Twitted  her  trembling  fingers  in  his  hand, 
Looked  in  his  face,  and  waited  for  the  end. 
The  waters  lapped  the  door  ftone,  and  went  back ; 
The  tide  was  flowly  setting  out  to  sea, 
Leaving  a  narrow  ftrip  of  barren  sand. 
When  all  was  over  Diotimus  rose 
And  called  the  fishers'  wives  to  wash  the  dead ; 
But  firft  he  placed  the  needful  obolus, 
The  ferriage  of  the  dead,  beneath  her  tongue  ; 
Her  spirit  else  had  wandered  by  the  Styx 
An  hundred  years  among  the  wretched  ghofts. 
They  buried  her  behind  the  fisher's  hut, 
Hard  by  the  wood,  among  its  fallen  leaves  -, 
The  dead  leaves  ruftled  in  the  reftless  wind, 


SONGS    OF    SUMMER.  I2Q 

And  mingled  in  the  rimer's  broken  dream  : 
It  seemed  to  him  the  leaves  whereon  he  lay 
Were  ftirred  that  night.     The  dead  was  by  his  side  ! 
He  rose  at  dawn,  and  rowed  to  sea  again, 
Scarce  knowing  what  he  did  j  a  league  from  fhore 
He  saw  his  net  was  loft,  or  left  behind  : 
He  dropped  his  oar,  and  let  the  crazy  boat 
Drift  as  it  would,  his  idle  thoughts  the  while 
Drifting  about  the  ocean  of  the  Paft. 
That  day  he  caught  no  rim.     He  found  the  nety 
When  the  wan  sunset  led  him  to  his  hut ; 
'Twas  on  his  bed,  the  pillow  of  the  dead. 
He  used  that  net  no  more.     Sometimes  for  days 
He  ftayed  within  the  hut,  to  twift  his  lines, 
To  mend  his  wicker  bafkets,  or  his  cloak ; 
And  then  whole  days  and  nights  he  ftayed  at  sea : 
He  saw  the  sun  go  down  into  the  sea, 
Plunging  in  flame  behind  the  weftern  waves  ; 
He  saw  him  rise,  his  bath  of  darkness  paft, 
And  scale  the  purple  eaft :  wrapt  in  his  cloak, 
The  bottom  of  the  boat  his  only  bed, 
He  lay  and  watched  the  ftars  :  he  saw  the  Bear 
Steal  from  his  hiding-place,  and  all  night  long 
Prowl  round  the  northern  pole  ;  the  Hyades 
Sprinkle  the  threatening  forehead  of  the  Bull; 
The  Fifh  swim  through  the  portals  of  the  south, 
Chasing  the  Swan  ;   and  in  the  glimmering  east 
9 


130  SONGS    OF    SUMMER. 

The  Charioteer,  the  Goat  that  suckled  Jove 
Perched  on  his  moulder,  looking  over  Crete. 
The  sea-birds  knew  him,  and,  no  longer  my, 
Swooped    down,   and    snatched   the   fifh  around  his 

boat; 

Yea,  lighted  on  his  boat,  his  very  oars, 
And  screamed,  and  chattered  of  their  briny  loves : 
He  harmed  them  not,  his  thoughts  were  in  the  Paft. 
"  Could  Time  reftore  those  days,  or  give  her  back," 
The  fifher  thought,  "  then  I  could  die  in  peace  ; 
But  Time  will  not  reftore  them,  nor  will  me 
Return  to  me  :  the  dead  return  no  more." 
u  But  there's  a  way  to  her,"  the  old  man  thought, 
And  ftared  in  the  dark  water.     "  Day  and  night 
The  gate  ftands  wide  ;  a  sudden  flaw  of  wind 
Might  send  me  through  it,  nay,  a  fim's  fin 
Rubbing  againft  the  bottom  of  the  boat. 
There  are  a  thousand  doors  that  lead  to  death  : 
I  trail  my  fingers  in  the  rippling  brine 
And  dip  my  death  ;  a  cup  of  this  salt  wine 
Drained  in  the  sunless  sea  would  end  my  days. 
But  would  it  help  me  to  my  wife  again, 
My  dear,  dear  Doro  ?      Does  me  wait  for  me, 
There   where   my  soul  would  land  ?      I   know  not 

that." 

He  ftared  in  the  black  water  more  and  more  ; 
He  saw  the  tangled  weeds,  the  glancing  fifh, 


SONGS    OF    SUMMER.  13! 

But  Doro  never;  only  in  his  dreams 

Did  he  behold  her,  and  fhe  seemed  to  weep, 

Walking  alone  the  solemn  mores  of  Death  ! 

But  now  the  tropic  birds  were  all  flown  home, 
The  autumn  leaves  were  fhed,  and  wintry  rains 
Were  sown  in  swelling  seas  ;  cold  blew  the  winds. 
It  was  too  cold  to  live  upon  the  sea ; 
The  sea  was  full  of  ice,  and  every  spray 
That  lifted  his  frail  boat  froze  on  the  prow  : 
Besides  his  boat  grew  frailer  day  by  day ; 
Old  like  himself;  it  scarcely  rode  the  waves  : 
A  ftorm  would  swamp  it.     "  I  mould  find  my  death 
In  the  cold  waters,"  Diotimus  said, 
"  But  not  my  dear  dead  wife  ;  for  though  I  died 
I  could  not  join  the  souls  across  the  Styx, 
So  poor  am  I  :  I  have  no  obolus 
To  fee  old  Charon."     So  he  sought  the  more. 
He  hung  his  nets  and  lines  within  the  hut, 
Stiffened  with  froft ;  made  up  his  bed  of  leaves  ; 
And  gathered  fagots  in  the  windy  wood 
To  feed  his  fire  :   he  walked  the  bleak  bare  wood, 
Lone  as  the  wind  that  snapped  the  withered  limbs ; 
Also  the  barren  beach,  the  ftretch  of  sand, 
Close  to  the  tumbling  wall  of  roaring  surf. 
The  surf,  and  sand,  and  melancholy  wood 
Troubled  him  less,  so  wafte  and  grim  were  they, 
Than  did  the  hut ;  the  memory  of  the  dead 


132  SONGS    OF    SUMMER. 

Peopled  the  lonely  hut,  and  filled  his  thoughts. 
He  seemed  to  see,  or  saw,  his  vanifhed  wife 
About  her  household  duties  all  the  day ; 
She  mended  nets,  me  spun,  me  built  his  fires  : 
At  night  he  dreamed  of  her ;  when  the  wind  blew 
'Twas  me  who  mook  his  door ;  when  fell  the  rain, 
Trickling  upon  him  through  the  crumbling  roof, 
'Twas  me  who  wept,  the  tears  he  felt  were  hers  : 
She  was  the  ghoft  of  moonlight  on  the  wall ! 

"  I  can  no  longer  bear  this  loss  of  mine, 
Here  where  it  came  upon  me  :  I  muft  go, 
Whither  I  know  not,  but  to  sea,  to  sea ; 
There  is  no  reft,  no  peace  for  me  on  land. 
The  winter  winds  may  freeze  me,  or  the  isles 
Of  ice  may  crufh  my  boat ;  I  can  but  die  : 
But  die  I  mail  not  yet,  for  I  muft  seek 
Charon,  and  afk  him  to  forego  his  fee  ; 
Not  else  can  reft  be  mine  when  I  am  dead." 
So  spake  the  fifher  one  gray  winter's  day, 
And  ftraightway  put  to  sea :  the  isles  of  ice 
Parted  before  his  prow,  and  closed  aftern ; 
Behind  the  noisy  mocks  of  spray  his  hut 
Grew  less  and  less  :  it  disappeared  :  the  beach 
Sank  in  the  sea :  the  woods  alone  were  left, 
The  long  dark  belt  of  woods,  and  ragged  hills. 

At  noon  he  doubled  Tenarus,  and  beat 
Northward  along  Laconia's  weftern  fhore ; 


SONGS    OF    SUMMER.  133 

Somewhere  along  the  fhore,  Tradition  said, 

Within  a  gorge,  the  gates  of  Hades  rose  ; 

Where,  no  man  knew :    such   knowledge  suits  not 

life. 

Death  brooded  round  that  awful  fhore  and  sea ; 
The  dreary  woods  were  dead  ;  nor  leaf,  nor  limb 
Stirred  in  the  ftrong  north  wind  that  filled  the  fky : 
Beaches  were  none,  but  rocks,  a  wall  of  rock, 
With  gaping  caverns  where  the  sea  was  loft : 
No  surf,  no  crefted  wave,  no  rippled  swell 
Wrinkled  the  sea's  broad  plain,  and  yet  it  moved, 
Swept  fhoreward  like  a  wind.     There  was  a  gulf 
Between  two  barren  mountains,  whose  black  jaws 
Devoured  the  light :   to  this  the  current  set, 
Bearing  the  fimer's  boat ;  for  though  his  oars 
Lay  on  the  thwarts,  and  all  his  sails  were  furled, 
He  drove  before  the  wind  to  the  inner  land. 
Soon  as  he  passed  that  portal  of  the  sea 
There  came  a  change  j  the  thought  that  led  him  on 
Slackened  ;  his  mind  grew  weak  ;  a  drowsy  weight 
Hung  on  his  lids  :  it  was  as  he  had  crossed 
The  leaden  portals  of  the  Land  of  Sleep  ! 
All  memory  of  his  former  life  was  loft, 
Sunk  in  his  dream  :  only  a  sense  of  loss 
Lived  in  his  soul,  a  vague  and  muffled  grief. 
He  bathed  his  eyes  in  that  myfterious  ftream 
To  break  his  {lumber;  down  his  wrinkled  cheek 


134  SONGS    OF    SUMMER. 

The  water  trickled,  and  he  tafted  it : 
'Twas  sweet,  and  bitter,  like  forgetfulness, 
A  bitter  sweet :  he  knew  the  river  then  — 
Lethe,  whose  dreadful  waters  lead  to  death  ! 

At  laft  the  current  emptied  in  the  Styx, 
A  fluggifh  lake,  whose  nearer  bank  alone 
Was  seen ;  in  mift  the  farther  bank  was  hid  : 
He  took  his  oars,  and  rowed  to  Charon's  wharf. 
A  line  of  sickly  willows  fringed  the  fhore, 
Their  ragged  tresses  draggling  in  the  scum 
That  mantled  the  grim  pool :  a  ghoftly  rank 
Of  poplars,  like  a  halted  train  of  fhades, 
Trembled ;  on  one  a  raven  sat,  and  flept. 
And  here  and  there  were  single  ghoftly  mapes, 
That  wandered  up  and  down  like  morning  mifts  ; 
Others  from  somewhere  inland  through  a  gorge 
Drifted  and  drifted,  down  to  Charon's  wharf. 
Charon  himself  was  in  his  dufky  barge, 
Juft  touching  land  ;  returned  from  Hades  :   ftill 
The  furrow  of  his  wake  was  on  the  scum. 
His  beard  was  long  and  ragged,  and  his  hair 
Hung  o'er  his  brows ;  the  wrinkles  of  his  face 
Seemed  carved  in  bronze  or  ftone  :  a  ftony  light 
Glinted  in  his  hard  eyes,  whose  fteady  frown 
Looked  pity  dead  :  no  pity  Charon  knew. 
"  What   man   art    thou  ?     and   wherefore   art   thou 
come  ?  " 


SONGS    OF    SUMMER.  135 

"  My  name  is  Diotimus,  and  my  home 
Is  in  Laconia  ;   Doro  was  my  wife  : 
She  died  :  you  ferried  her  across  the  Styx." 

"  Perchance,  old  man  :  but  now  so  many  cross 
I  cannot  long  remember  single  souls, 
Or  queens,  or  rimers'  wives  :  but  get  thee  back  : 
The  dead  and  not  the  living  come  to  me." 
So  Charon  said,  and  waved  the  fiftier  back. 

"  Not  back  to  earth  again,  oh,  say  not  that ! 
He  who  has  lived  for  threescore  years  and  ten, 
So  old  am  I,  and  lived  the  poor  man's  life, 
Once  freed  therefrom,  not  willingly  returns. 
From  youth  to  age  upon  the  dangerous  sea 
My  days  were  passed ;  by  suns  of  summer  scorched, 
By  winds  of  winter  numbed  :  and  tempefts  rose, 
Great  whirlwinds  in  the  fky,  and  in  the  sea 
Chasms  and  gulfs  of  night ;  but  all  I  bore, 
For  Doro  lived ;  but  now  that  me  is  dead 
I  long  to  die  :  there  is  no  joy  in  life  : 
Pity  me  then,  and  let  me  cross  the  Styx." 

"  He  will  not  pity  thee"  a  fhadowy  voice 
Breathed  from  the  more  ;  "  but  rather  mock  thy  grief: 
There  is  no  mercy  fhown  to  men  In  life, 
Why  Jhould  they  look  for  any  after  death  ?  ' 
Beneath  the  poplar  where  the  raven  sat 
This  hopeless  voice  to  Diotimus  croaked  : 
The  raven  heard,  and  answered  in  his  dream. 


136  SONGS    OF    SUMMER. 

Meantime  the  wandering  fhapes  had  gathered  round 

To  watch  the  issue ;  thin  at  firft  as  smoke, 

Againft  the  swaying  willow  branches  drawn, 

Their  dim  uncertain  outlines  surer  grew, 

Grew  firm  and  certain  :  wrapt  in  long  white  robes, 

That  swept  the  ground,  and  o'er  their  faces  fell 

Hood-like,  they  flood  :  the  wretched  dead  were  they, 

That  wander  by  the  Styx  an  hundred  years. 

<£  I  bear  the  dead  alone  across  the  Styx," 

Charon  replied,  and  smiled  a  grim  dark  smile  ; 

u  Only  the  dead,  nor  all  the  dead,  you  see. 

Prayers  have  been  said  to  me,  tears  have  been  fried 

For  ages,  as  ye  reckon  time  on  earth ; 

In  vain  :   I  heed  not  human  tears  or  prayers  ! 

Great  kings  have  laid  their  sceptres  at  my  feet, 

Pale  queens  have  knelt  to  me,  and  wrung  their  hands, 

To  die  before  their  time  :  I  sent  them  back  ! 

What  man  art  thou,  that  I  should  let  thee  cross  ? 

Go  back,  and  live  the  remnant  of  thy  life : 

Live  till  the  lords  of  life  shall  let  thee  die  — 

It  cannot  now  be  long  —  then  come  to  me  ; 

Not  as  thou  comeft  now,  but  with  the  dead  : 

Come  with  an  obolus,  and  thou  shalt  cross." 

"  I  have  no  obolus,  but  I  shall  cross," 
The  fisher  said,  "  for  Doro  waits  for  me." 

Above  the  dead  the  silent  willows  leaned  ; 
The  air  was  hushed  j  except  the  poplar  rods, 


SONGS    OF    SUMMER.  137 

High  over  all,  naught  ftirred  :  the  poplars  shook, 
Reached  by  the  couriers  of  a  coming  wind, 
Or  some  impending  doom  !     A  wind  of  doom 
Swept  through  the  gorge  behind  them,  driving  on 
A  sea  of  spirits,  and  the  noise  of  war  : 
In  war  two  mighty  kingdoms  then  were  met ; 
These  were  the  flower  of  both,  flain  in  the  shock. 
Rushing  from  life  to  death  they  threw  themselves 
Straight  into  Charon's  barge,  or  would  have  thrown, 
But  that  his  oar,  uplifted,  kept  them  off. 
And  now  while  clamor  and  confusion  reigned, 
Unseen,  the  wary  fisher  seized  his  oars 
And  pulled  for  the  farther  shore  :  before  his  prow 
The  scum  was  thick,  and  thick  the  matted  weeds 
Below  the  fliding  keel :   a  faint  dead  scent 
Burthened  the  wafte  ;  nor  wave,  nor  ripple  there, 
He  tore  his  way  through  flime  at  every  ftroke. 
Of  all  the  flaughtered  dead  that  ftormed  his  barge 
Not  one  would  Charon  ferry  o'er  the  Styx, 
For  all  were  yet  unburied  in  the  field ; 
He  ftretched  his  hand  in  vain ;  no  burial  fee 
Dropped  in  his  greedy  palm  ;  he  drove  them  back. 
A  single  ghoft,  a  flave  that  died  in  peace, 
Wealthier  with  one  poor  obolus  than  they, 
Heroes,  and  valiant  captains,  kings  of  war, 
Stepped  in  the  barge,  and  sat  at  Charon's  feet. 
The  barge  was  turned,  and  now  began  the  chase ; 


138  SONGS    OF    SUMMER. 

For  Charon  now  the  fisher  missed,  arid  saw 

His  laboring  boat  half-way  across  the  ftream  : 

He  bent  him  to  his  oars,  that  rose  and  fell, 

Fafter,  and  fatter,  raining  ftrokes  that  shook 

The  sea  of  scum,  and  dashed  its  turbid  waves, 

Shouting  great  shouts  to  fright  the  daring  man  : 

The  shouts  o'ertook  the  fisher  in  his  flight, 

And  fright  a  little  moment  chilled  his  heart, 

But  soon  was  ftrangled  by  the  iron  will 

That  nerved  his  arm,  half  hope,  and  half  despair : 

The  crazy  boat  was  {trained  in  every  seam, 

And  flow  great  drops  oozed  through   her  trembling 

sides  ; 

But  not  the  less  she  flew,  pursued  by  shouts, 
And  frowning  Charon  in  his  gloomy  barge. 

But  now  the  mift  that  veiled  the  farther  bank 
Grew  thin,  and  thinner,  and  the  fisher  caught 
The  shore  beyond,  a  green,  low-lying  shore, 
Deep  meadows,  uplands,  flopes,  and  happy  woods 
Steeped  through  and  through  with  light ;  and  ftately 

Shapes 

That  came  and  went  like  gods  :  but  one  was  flill, 
Hushed  as  a  ftatue  frozen  in  the  moon : 
It  looked  a  woman,  and  her  marble  eye 
Drank  in  that  breathless  chase  across  the  Styx. 
"  Doro  !  "  the  fisher  shouted,  as  he  neared 
The  happy  shore;  the  figure  seemed  to  hear: 


SONGS    OF    SUMMER.  139 

"  Doro  !  dear  Doro  !  "  —  but  the  reft  was  loft, 
For  Charon  now  had  reached  the  fisher's  boat ; 
His  black  barge  ftruck  it :  down  it  sank  like  lead, 
The  fisher  with  it :  but  he  rose  again, 
Breafting  the  surges  to  the  blessed  shore 
Where  Doro  ftood,  and  ftretched  her  hands  to  him. 
He  lands  ;  she  falls  upon  his  neck,  and  weeps  : 
Then  hand  in  hand,  their  happy  tears  forgot, 
The  smiling  spirits  go  to  meet  their  judge  :  — 
But  Charon  goes  back,  angry,  to  the  dead! 


I4O  SONGS    OF    SUMMER. 


GREAT   AND    SMALL. 

A  LITTLE  plot  of  garden  ground 

Grew  envious  of  a  range  of  bowers, 
That  carl  their  shade  upon  its  flowers, 

And  thus  its  thoughts  an  utterance  found  : 

u  I  envy  you,  ye  ftately  bowers, 

Your  royal  growths  of  trunk  and  bough, 
With  all  the  blooms  that  clutter  now 

Thereon,  and  those  that  fall  in  showers. 

Cc  Far  in  the  heavens  ye  lift  your  heads, 
Whatever  wind  blows,  oh,  ye  trees  ! 
But  these  my  flowers  —  the  lighteft  breeze 

Dashes  them  on  their  dufty  beds. 

"  Within  your  branches  lodge  the  birds, 
Rebuilding  nefts,  and  chanting  lays  ; 
And  in  your  shade  when  summer  days 

Are  sultry  lie  the  drowsy  herds. 


SONGS    OF    SUMMER.  14! 

"Around  my  ftalks  the  insects  creep  ; 
Over  my  buds  the  beetles  run, 
With  moths  that  die  when  day  is  done, 

And  bees  that  hum  themselves  afleep. 

"  Not  all  unloved  by  me  the  bees, 
Draining  my  cups  of  honey  dry  : 
But  what  are  they,  and  what  am  I, 

To  herds,  and  birds,  and  giant  trees  ?  " 

But  Nature,  liftening,  "  Thou  art  wrong  !  " 
Did  say  reproving  :  —  <c  wrong  !  "  the  herds  ; 
And  "  wrong !  "  the  many-voiced  birds 

Interpolated  in  their  song. 

"  There  is  no  difference  with  me," 
Was  whispered  in  the  garden's  ear : 
"  The  smalleft  blossom  is  as  dear 

To  Nature  as  the  greateft  tree. 

"  The  pine  and  oak  are  only  flowers 

Grown  large  :  they  drink  the  beads  of  dew 
Like  little  violets,  meek  and  blue, 

And  battle  with  the  ftormy  powers. 

"  The  insecl:  with  its  gauzy  wings 
Sings,  and  the  moth  and  beetle  grim ; 


142  SONGS    OF    SUMMER. 

And  for  the  bee  —  I  doat  on  him, 
And  know  by  heart  the  tune  he  sings  ! 

"  Then  learn  this  truth,  the  base  of  all, 
That  all  are  equal,  so  they  fill 
Their  proper  spheres,  and  do  God's  will 

There  is  no  other  Great  or  Small !  " 


SONGS    OF    SUMMER.  143 


THE    POPLAR. 

I. 

THE  poplar-tree  that  guards  my  house 

Looks  in  on  me  to-night, 
As  if  it  would  divide  my  shade, 
Though  based  itself  in  light. 
Alas,  poor  tree  ! 
It  knows  not  me  ; 
A  myftery  few  explain  aright. 

II. 

It  ftands  out  in  the  lamp-light  there, 

And  shakes  its  twinkling  leaves  \ 
And  whatsoe'er  the  heavens  may  send, 
It  patiently  receives  : 
Rain,  hail,  or  snow, 
All  winds  that  blow,  — 
Whatever  comes  it  never  grieves  ! 

in. 

For  me  I  cannot  say  the  like, 
For  I  do  grieve  and  pine ; 


144  SONGS    OF    SUMMER. 

There's  not  an  hour  but  ftirs  a  pang 
In  this  weak  heart  of  mine  : 

Even  Pleasure  pains. 

And  Love  contains  — 
How  much  of  sorrow,  though  divine  ! 

IV. 

Even  now  it  fills  my  aching  heart 

With  mingled  gloom,  and  flame  ; 
And  yet  the  poplar  envies  me 
My  woe  without  a  name  ! 
It  sees  my  tears, 
Conceives  my  fears, 
And  yearns  to  bear  the  same. 

v. 

No,  poplar,  no !  reft  where  you  are 
In  wiser  Nature's  plan ; 

Man  suffers  so,  'tis  happier 
To  be  a  tree  than  man  ! 
Your  time  will  come, 
Your  martyrdom : 
Till  then  contented,  happy  be, 
Nor  seek  to  share  my  life  with  me  ! 


SONGS    OF    SUMMER. 


MISERRIMUS. 

HE  has  passed  away 

From  a  world  of  ftrife, 
Fighting  the  wars  of  Time  and  Life  ; 
The  leaves  will  fall  when  the  winds  are  loud. 
And  the  snows  of  winter  will  weave  his  fhroud 
But  he  will  never,  ah,  never  know 

Any  thing  more 

Of  leaves  or  snow  ! 

The  summer-tide 

Of  his  life  was  part, 
And  his  hopes  were  fading,  falling  fair.  : 
His  faults  were  many,  his  virtues  few, 
A  temped  with  flecks  of  heaven's  blue. 
He  might  have  soared  to  the  gates  of  light, 

But  he  built  his  neft 

With  the  birds  of  night! 

He  glimmered  apart 
In  solemn  gloom, 
10 


146  SONGS    OF    SUMMER. 

Like  a  dying  lamp  in  a  haunted  tomb : 
He  touched  his  lute  with  a  magic  spell. 
But  all  its  melodies  breathed  of  hell, 
Raising  the  Afrits  and  the  Ghouls, 

And  the  pallid  ghofts 

Of  the  damned  souls  ! 

But  he  lies  in  duft, 

And  the  ftone  is  rolled 
Over  his  sepulchre  dark  and  cold  ; 
He  has  cancelled  all  he  has  done,  or  said, 
And  gone  to  the  dear  and  holy  dead ! 
Let  us  forget  the  path  he  trod ; 

He  has  done  with  us  : 

He  has  gone  to  God  ! 


SONGS    OF    SUMMER.  147 


THE    OLD    MILL. 

BESIDE  the  ftream  the  grift-mill  ftands. 
With  bending  roof  and  leaning  wall ; 

So  old,  that  when  the  winds  are  wild, 
The  miller  trembles  left  it  fall : 

And  yet  it  baffles  wind  and  rain, 

Our  brave  old  Mill !  and  will  again. 

Its  dam  is  fteep,  and  hung  with  weeds  : 
The  gates  are  up,  the  waters  pour, 

And  tread  the  old  wheel's  flippery  round, 
The  loweft  ftep  forevermore. 

Methinks'they  fume,  and  chafe  with  ire, 

Because  they  cannot  climb  it  higher. 

From  morn  to  night  in  autumn  time, 

When  harvefts  fill  the  neighboring  plains, 

Up  to  the  mill  the  farmers  drive, 
And  back  anon  with  loaded  wains  : 

And  when  the  children  come  from  school 

They  ftop,  and  watch  its  foamy  pool. 


148  SONGS    OF    SUMMER. 

The  mill  inside  is  small  and  dark ; 

But  peeping  in  the  open  door 
You  see  the  miller  flitting  round, 

The  dufty  bags  along  the  floor, 
The  whirling  shaft,  the  clattering  spout, 
And  the  yellow  meal  a-pouring  out ! 

All  day  the  meal  is  floating  there, 
Rising  and  falling  in  the  breeze ; 

And  when  the  sunlight  ftrikes  its  mift 
It  glitters  like  a  swarm  of  bees  : 

Or  like  the  cloud  of  smoke  and  light 

Above  a  blacksmith's  forge  at  night. 

I  love  our  pleasant,  quaint  old  Mill, 
It  (till  recalls  my  boyifh  prime  ; 

'Tis  changed  since  then,  and  so  am  I, 
We  both  have  known  the  touch  of  time 

The  mill  is  crumbling  in  decay, 

And  I  —  my  hair  is  early  gray. 

I  ftand  beside  the  ftream  of  Life, 

And  watch  the  current  sweep  along : 

And  when  the  flood-gates  of  my  heart 
Are  raised  it  turns  the  wheel  of  Song : 

But  scant,  as  yet,  the  harveft  brought 

From  out  the  golden  fields  of  Thought ! 
1848. 


SONGS    OF    SUMMER.  149 


THE    SQUIRE    OF   LOW   DEGREE. 

I. 

The  royal  sunlight  flujhed  the  room, 

Fromjlained  windows  ftr earning  down, 
To  where,  rayed  round  in  golden  gloom, 

The  old  king  sat,  and  tried  to  frown. 
Before  him  flood  his  daughter  dear, 

Her  white  hands  folded  on  her  breaft, 
And  in  her  drooping  eyes  a  tear, 

The  sign  of  love,  and  love's  unreft  : 
For  /he  was  grieved,  as  only  maids  can  be, 
That  love,  and  lose,  like  her,  a  squire  of  low  degree. 

[THE  KING  SPEAKS.] 
"  To-morrow  we  ride  with  all  our  train 
To  meet  our  cousin  of  Aquitain  ; 
Be  ready,  daughter,  to  go  with  us  there, 
At  the  head  of  the  train  in  a  royal  chair. 
The  chair  {hall  be  covered  with  velvet  red, 
With  a  fringed  canopy  overhead, 
And  curtains  of  damafk,  white  and  blue, 


I5O  SONGS    OF    SUMMER. 

Figured  with  lilies,  and  silver  dew. 

Your  robe  muft  be  purple,  with  ermine  bands, 

The  fineft  fur  of  the  northern  lands  : 

Enamelled  chains  of  rare  device, 

And  your  feather  a  bird  of  Paradise  ! 

And  what  will  you  have  for  a  dainty  fteed  ? 

A  Flanders  mare  of  the  royal  breed  ? 

An  Englifh  blood  ?     A  jennet  of  Spain  ? 

Or  a  Barbary  foal  with  a  coal-black  mane  ? 

We  ftill  have  the  Soldan's  harness,  sweet : 

The  housings  hang  to  the  horse's  feet, 

The  saddle-cloth  is  sown  with  moons, 

And  the  bridle  bells  jingle  the  blytheft  tunes  ' 

Or  will  you  on  a  palfrey  go  ? 

An  ambling  palfrey,  sure  and  flow, 

That  (hakes  its  head  at  every  tread, 

And  tosses  its  heavy  mane  of  snow : 

Speak,  my  daughter  !  or  will  you  ftay, 

And  make  it  a  happy  hunting  day  ? 

The  huntsmen  (hall  all  be  gathered  at  dawn, 

And  the  hounds  led  out  upon  the  lawn  ; 

When  you  and  your  bevy  of  dames  appear, 

We'll  spur  our  fteeds,  and  chase  the  deer : 

Through  meadows,  through  woods,  away  we'll  go, 

And  (hout  while  the  merry  bugles  blow  ! 

Or  you  (hall  lead  us  where  you  will, 

Down  in  the  valley,  or  up  the  hill : 


SONGS    OF    SUMMER. 

Speak,  and  the  hawks  mall  wait  you  there. 
And  a  noble  quarry  in  the  air. 
And  O  !  but  you  are  a  lady  bright, 
On  a  green  hill's  side  in  the  morning  light ; 
Your  rosy  cheek  by  the  soft  wind  kissed, 
And  a  dappled  falcon  on  your  wrift ! 
After  the  chase  we'll  feaft  in  the  hall, 
Under  the  antlers  on  the  wall ; 
The  trumpet  mail  wake  its  golden  sound, 
And  the  butler  bear  the  dimes  round  : 
Ribs  of  beef,  so  crisp  and  brown, 
And  a  jug  of  Rhenifh  to  warn  it  down  : 
Hares,  and  pheasants,  and  venison  fteaks, 
And  a  boar  with  his  Ikin  peeling  off  in  flakes 
And  to  crown  the  whole,  a  peacock  dressed, 
With  its  ftarry  plumes,  and  a  gilded  creft. 
For  you  and  the  maids,  a  ftore  of  spice  ; 
Cloves,  and  the  seed  of  Paradise, 
Pots  of  ginger  from  over  the  seas, 
Honeycombs  from  the  Englifh  trees, 
Plums,  dim-seen  through  their  mifty  ftreaks, 
And  dimes  of  peaches  with  bloomy  cheeks, 
Pears  that  smack  of  the  sunny  South, 
And  cherries,  as  red  as  a  maiden's  mouth  ! 
Grapes  in  salvers,  with  sprigs  of  vine, 
And  wine,  wine,  a  river  of  wine  ; 
Ripe  and  old,  and  brave  and  bold, 


SONGS    OF    SUMMER. 

In  cups  of  silver,  and  flagons  of  gold  : 
Red  from  Bordeaux,  white  from  the  Rhine, 
Rumney,  and  Malmsey,  and  Malespine, 
Every  vintage  of  famous  wine  !  " 

[THE  PRINCESS  ANSWERS.] 
"But  I  would  rather  have,"  said  fhe, 
"  My  loving  squire  of  low  degree  ; 
Nor  gaudy  trains,  nor  days  of  chase, 
Reward  me  for  his  absent  face. 
They  do  but  bring  him  back  again, 
And  all  the  Paft,  a  double  pain. 
I  see  him  now ;  he  is  my  page, 
A  dreamy  boy  of  tender  age  : 
His  hair  is  long,  and  bright  as  gold, 
And  in  his  eyes  are  depths  untold  ! 
'Tis  dangerous,  believe  me,  Sire, 

The  growth  of  two  young  hearts  like  ours 
We  grow  like  flowers,  and  bear  desire, 

The  odor  of  the  human  flowers  ! 
Eyes  tell  the  tale,  though  lips  say  naught, 
And  it  colors  the  very  springs  of  thought ; 
I  thought  of  him,  and  he  of  me, 
The  daring  squire  of  low  degree  !  " 

n. 

The  monarch's  eye  with  anger  burns , 
Like  one  who  hates^  yet  hears  a  truth  ; 


SONGS    OF    SUMMER.  153 

Besides  his  own  sweet  youth  returns, 

And  pleads,  but  he  despises  youth  ! 
The  princess  kneels  before  his  chair, 

And  takes  his  heavy-hanging  hand: 
He  does  but  smooth  her  ruffled  hair, 

And  idle  with  its  jewelled  band  : 
And  yet  he  loves  her,  angry  though  he  be, 
And  bribes  her  to  forget  the  squire  of  low  degree. 

[THE  KING  SPEAKS.] 
"  You  {hall  have  a  mantle,  silver-green, 
With  clasps  of  gold,  and  gems  between  ; 
A  cloak  of  scarlet,  deep  as  flame, 
And  a  wimpled  hood  to  match  the  same ; 
A  golden  comb  to  crown  your  hair, 
Or  even  a  crown,  like  this  I  wear. 
Or  will  you  that  every  separate  curl 
Shall  be  inlaid  with  a  priceless  pearl, 
Till  you  mine  like  night  in  the  ftarry  hours  ? 
Or  will  you  garland  your  brow  with  flowers  ? 
But  your  {lately  throat,  like  a  swan's  afloat  — 
That  muft  be  circled  with  coral  beads, 
Or  the  ruby,  whose  heart  with  passion  bleeds  ! 
Kerchiefs  of  Holland,  Mechlin  lace, 
And  a  veil  like  mift  to  hide  your  face  ; 
Embroidered  gloves,  and  velvet  hose  : 
And  tippets  to  wrap  you  from  the  snows  : 


154  SONGS    OF    SUMMER. 

Eider  fhoes,  lined  from  the  cold, 

And  flippers  of  satin  with  buckles  of  gold. 

Nor  fhall  you  tread  on  rufhes  more, 

But  cloth  of  gold  mail  cover  your  floor ; 

And  when  you  please  to  take  the  air, 

But  name  your  path,  and  we'll  spread  it  there. 

Your  garden  walks  fhall  be  trimmed  anew  : 

And  we'll  try,  if  we  can,  to  keep  the  dew  : 

Plant  new  trees,  of  ftronger  made, 

And  have  the  summer  arbors  made. 

You  fhall  have  a  fawn  with  a  silver  bell, 

A  delicate  fawn,  that  knows  you  well ; 

A  peacock,  too,  of  the  richeft  hue, 

To  ftrut  before  you,  and  spread  its  train, 

Gay  as  the  rainbow  after  rain  ! 

The  fountain  fhall  play,  the  swans  mail  swim, 

And  feed  from  your  hand  at  the  basin's  brim  : 

You  fhall  have  a  fhallop,  with  silken  sail, 

And  oars  beside,  if  the  wind  fhould  fail : 

Shall  float  on  the  lake,  with  a  rippling  wake, 

Shoot  with  the  current  down  the  ftream, 

And  under  the  arched  bridges  dream. 

Or  you  fhall  land,  if  it  please  you  more, 

And  have  a  pavilion  pitched  on  more  : 

Blue  and  white,  like  the  fky  in  sight, 

A  couch  of  down,  and  a  dreamy  light : 

An  odorous  silence,  rapt  and  deep, 

And  fleep,  the  beautiful  balm  of  Sleep  !  " 


SONGS  OF  SUMMER. 

[THE  PRINCESS  ANSWERS.] 
"  But  I  would  sooner  have,"  said  {he, 
"  My  loving  squire  of  low  degree  ; 
For  in  his  faith  my  soul  reposes, 
Sweeter  than  in  a  bed  of  roses. 
Nor  balmy  fleep,  nor  happy  dream, 
Nor  majlop  on  a  summer  ftream, 
Nor  garden  walks,  nor  fhaded  bowers, 
No  !  nor  a  perfect  nefl  of  flowers, 
Shall  wean  me  from  his  love  divine, 
Or  make  him  any  thing  but  mine  ! 
And,  as  for  jewels,  pins,  and  rings, 
Mantles,  and  all  such  paltry  things, 
I  hold  them  at  their  proper  worth, 
A  subject  for  my  scorn  and  mirth  ! 
You  think  us  children,  Sire,  you  men  : 
We  want  our  playthings  back  again  : 
We  muft  be  pacified  with  mow, 
We  are  such  simpletons,  you  know  ! 
It  may  be  so,  it  may  be  so, 
But  when  the  worft  is  known,  and  told, 
We  cannot  all  be  bought  and  sold ; 
Nor  force,  nor  art  can  make  us  part 
From  something  holy  in  the  heart  — 
The  bright  and  blessed  love  of  old, 
The  deathless  love  I  bear  to  thee, 
My  own  dear  squire  of  low  degree !  " 


156  SONGS    OF    SUMMER. 

III. 

She  leaned  againft  her  father's  breaft, 

And  In  her  sickly  sorrow  smiled ; 
Perplexed^  distressed,  and  ill  at  reft, 

He  ftooped,  and  kissed  his  weeping  child. 
Her  arms  around  his  neck  Jhe  drew ; 

He  felt  her  wild  heart  beat,  and  beat : 
His  own  was  touched,  with  pity  too : 

He  threw  his  kingdom  at  her  feet : 
And  yet  he  held  her  suppliant  soul  in  fee, 
For  ftill  he  plead  againft  the  squire  of  low  degree. 

[THE  KING  SPEAKS.] 
"  The  weftern  wing,  by  the  palace  gate  — 
I  give  it  to  you,  with  all  its  ftate  : 
Deep  are  the  halls,  broad  are  the  frairs, 
And  tables  of  oak,  and  walnut  chairs, 
With  mirrors  of  Venice  adorn  the  rooms, 
That  are  humed  in  the  heart  of  purple  glooms  ! 
When  the  sun  at  his  golden  setting  paints 
The  palace-panes,  and  we  pray  to  the  saints, 
The  Court  fhall  in  your  chapel  throng, 
And  hear  the  solemn  even-song  : 
Threescore  singers  in  the  choir, 
And  the  lips  of  all  are  touched  with  fire  ! 
The  prieft  before  the  altar  {lands, 
And  lifts  the  Hoft  with  reverent  hands ; 


SONGS    OF    SUMMER.  157 

The  little  faery  children  sing, 

And  the  incense  burns,  and  the  censers  swing, 

And  the  deep-toned  organ  thunders  round, 

Filling  the  aisles  with  a  sea  of  sound ! 

You  fhall  sup  with  me  whenever  you  will, 

And  I'll  pick  you  an  arbor,  green  and  ftill, 

Drape  it  with  arras  down  to  the  floor, 

And  spread  your  service  by  the  door, 

That  when  you  eat  you  may  behold 

The  knights  at  play,  where  the  bowls  are  rolled ; 

Then  you  fhall  to  the  drawbridge  go, 

And  watch  the  sportive  fifh  below, 

Their  glancing  fins,  their  motions  free, 

Arrows  of  gold  in  a  silver  sea. 

A  beautiful  barge  mail  meet  you  there, 

With  gilded  pennons  drooped  in  air, 

And  fturdy  rowers,  with  lifted  oars, 

To  pull  you  by  the  sedgy  mores  : 

Step  on  deck,  and  mount  your  throne 

Under  the  purple  dais  alone  : 

Your  favored  ladies,  two  by  two, 

And  the  knights  you  name,  shall  follow  you  : 

Wave  your  hand,  the  band  mall  play, 

And  the  rowers  speed  you  on  your  way ; 

Down  the  river,  and  paft  the  lawn, 

And  up  the  lake,  where  hides  the  swan ; 

Through  glassy  fhadows,  and  drifts  of  light, 


158  SONGS    OF    SUMMER. 

The  bloom  of  eve,  and  the  gloom  of  night, 

Till  rises  the  moon,  when  home  you  turn, 

And  land  where  the  torches  redly  burn, 

And  the  garden's  roof,  and  its  leafy  bars 

Glitter  with  cressets,  like  colored  ftars  : 

Then  to  your  chamber,  chafte,  and  white, 

In  the  silent  privacy  of  night. 

Your  room  (hall  be  hung  with  curtains  of  snow, 

And  a  canopy  over  the  couch  mail  flow  : 

The  broidered  meet  with  pearls  we  '11  ftrew, 

Till  it  gleams  like  a  lily  edged  with  dew ! 

You  shall  have  the  finch  that  you  desire, 

In  an  ivory  cage  with  golden  wire : 

It  shall  hang  at  the  head  of  your  bed,  and  cheep, 

And  meet  your  eyes  when  they  close  in  fleep  : 

And  to  batten  the  fleep  we  '11  make  the  room 

Drowsy  with  shadow  and  perfume  : 

Braziers  shall  melt  the  sweeteft  gum, 

And  its  scent  in  your  very  dreams  shall  come ! 

Nay  !  you  shall  have  the  ripe  delight 

Of  the  melloweft  music,  all  the  night : 

And  when  the  songs  of  the  minftrels  fail, 

The  sweeter  songs  of  the  nightingale  : 

And  the  heavenly  ftrain  will  flood  your  brain, 

Till  heaven  opens  before  your  eyes, 

And  your  spirit  walks  in  Paradise  !  " 


SONGS    OF    SUMMER.  159 

[THE  PRINCESS  ANSWERS.] 
"  But  I  would  only  have,"  said  she, 
"  My  loving  squire  of  low  degree  ; 
For  I  love  him,  and  he  loves  me, 
And  what  is  life  when  love  is  flown  ? 
We  breathe  indeed,  we  grieve,  we  sigh, 
And  seem  to  live,  and  yet  we  die  : 

There  is  no  life  alone  ! 
Glory  is  but  a  gilded  chain, 
And  joy  another  name  for  pain  : 

There  is  no  joy  alone  ! 
But  joy,  or  pain,  it  matters  not, 
Without  my  squire  of  low  degree ; 
All  things  are  nothing  now  to  me. 
For  I  shall  die,  and  be  forgot. 
You  have  another  daughter  ftill 
To  love  you,  Sire,  and  work  your  will ; 
For  me  —  awaits  the  convent  cell, 
And  soon  the  mournful  passing-bell. 
No  more  a  princess,  when  you  hear 
The  woman's  dirge,  and  see  her  bier, 
Forget  your  pride,  and  all  beside, 
And  but  remember  she  was  dear  ! 
And  when  the  ghoftly  mass  is  said, 
And  prayers  are  chanted  for  the  dead, 
O  pray  that  she  may  happy  be, 
And  all  good  souls  shall  pray  for  thee  !  " 


l6o  SONGS    OF    SUMMER. 


IMOGEN. 

UNKNOWN  to  her  the  maids  supplied 
Her  wants,  and  gliding  noiseless  round 
Passed  out  again,  while  Leon's  hound 

Stole  in  and  ilumbered  at  her  side  : 

Then  Cloten  came,  a  silly  ape, ' 
And  wooed  her  in  his  boorish  way, 

Barring  the  door  againft  escape ; 

But  the  hound  woke,  and  ftood  at  bay, 

Defiant  at  the  lady's  feet, 

And  made  the  ruffian  retreat. 

Then  for  a  little  moment's  space 

A  smile  did  flit  across  the  face 
Of  Lady  Imogen. 

Without  the  morning  dried  the  dews 
From  shaven  lawns,  and  paftures  green : 
Meantime  the  court  dames  and  the  queen 

Did  pace  the  shaded  avenues  : 

And  Cymbeline  arm'd  his  train 

Rode  down  the  winding  palace  walks, 


SONGS    OF    SUMMER.  l6l 

Behind  the  hounds  that  snuffed  the  plain, 

And  in  the  track  of  wheeling  hawks ; 
And  soon  in  greenwood  shaws  anear 
They  blew  their  horns,  and  chased  the  deer. 
But  Jhe  nor  saw,  nor  heard  it  there, 
But  sat,  a  ftatue  of  despair, 
The  mournful  Imogen. 

She  shook  her  ringlets  round  her  head, 

And  clasped  her  hands,  and  thought,  and  thought, 

As  every  faithful  lady  ought, 
Whose  lord  is  far  away,  or  dead  ! 
She  pressed  in  books  his  faded  flowers, 

That  never  seemed  so  sweet  before  ; 
Upon  his  picture  gazed  for  hours, 

And  read  his  letters  o'er,  and  o'er, 
Dreaming  about  the  loving  Paft, 
Until  her  tears  were  flowing  fair.  ! 
With  aches  of  heart,  and  aches  of  brain, 
Bewildered  in  the  realms  of  pain, 
The  wretched  Imogen  ! 

She  tried  to  rouse  herself  again  ; 

Began  a  broidery  quaint  and  rich, 

But  pricked  her  fingers  every  flitch, 
And  left  in  every  bud  a  ftain ! 
She  took  her  diftafF,  tried  to  spin, 
II 


l62  SONGS    OF    SUMMER. 

But  tangled  up  the  golden  thread : 
She  touched  her  lute,  but  could  not  win 

A  happy  sound,  her  fkill  had  fled  : 
The  letters  in  her  books  were  blurred, 
She  could  not  underftand  a  word. 
Bewildered  ft  ill,  andftill  in  tears, 
The  dupe  of  hopes,  the  prey  of  fears, 
The  weeping  Imogen  / 

Her  curtains  opened  in  the  breeze 
And  showed  the  flowly-setting  sun, 
Through  vines  that  up  the  sash  did  run, 

And  hovering  butterflies  and  bees. 

A  silver  fountain  gufhed  below, 

The  swans  superbly  swam  the  spray  : 

And  pages  hurried  to  and  fro, 

And  trim  gallants  with  ladies  gay, 

And  many  a  hooded  monk  and  friar 

Went  barefoot  by,  in  coarse  attire. 

But  like  a  pitture,  or  a  dream, 

The  outward  world  did  only  seem, 
To  thoughtful  Imogen. 

When  curfews  rang,  and  day  was  dim, 
She  glided  to  her  chapel  defk, 
Unclasped  her  missal  arabesque, 

And  sang  the  solemn  vesper  hymn : 


SONGS    OF    SUMMER.  163 

Before  the  crucifix  knelt  down, 

And  told  her  beads,  and  ftrove  to  pray  : 

But  Heaven  was  deaf,  and  seemed  to  frown, 
And  push  her  idle  words  away ; 

And  when  she  touched  the  holy  urn 

The  icy  water  seemed  to  burn  ! 

No  faith  had  she  In  saints  above^ 

She  only  wanted  human  love^ 
The  pining  Imogen. 

The  pale  moon  walked  the  wafte  o'erhead, 

And  filled  the  room  with  sickly  light, 

And  she  arose  in  piteous  plight, 
Disrobed  herself,  and  crept  to  bed  : 
The  wind  without  was  loud  and  deep, 

The  rattling  casements  made  her  {tart : 
At  laft  she  flept,  but  in  her  fleep 

She  pressed  her  fingers  o'er  her  heart, 
And  moaned,  and  once  she  gave  a  scream, 
To  break  the  clutches  of  a  dream  ! 
Even  in  her  Jleep  she  could  not  Jleep , 
For  ugly  visions  made  her 
The  troubled  Imogen. 

1848. 


164  SONGS    OF    SUMMER. 


THE   FLAMINGO. 

[IN    THE    DESERT.] 

THIN  and  pale  the  moon  is  shining 

Where  the  Arab  tents  are  spread  ; 
But  the  cloudy  fky  before  me. 
And  around  the  burning  desert, 

Both  are  red  ! 

And  where  their  hues  are  moil  like  blood, 
Mirrored  in  the  iluggish  flood, 
Down  the  long  black  neck  of  land, 
J  see  the  red  Flamingo  ftand. 

That  bird  accurft — I  saw  it  firft 

On  a  wild  and  angry  dawn  ; 
I  was  wakened  from  my  {lumbers 
By  Zuleika's  flifled  screaming  — 

She  was  gone  ! 
Stolen  by  a  turbaned  horseman, 

Mounted  on  a  barb  so  black  : 
I  saw  her  garments  waving  white, 
And  I  followed,  day  and  night, 


SONGS    OF    SUMMER.  165 

In  the  red  Flamingo's  track. 
Three  whole  moons  have  I  pursued  it, 

With  a  swift  and  noiseless  tread ; 
Like  a  dreamer  whom  the  demons 
With  a  baleful  lamp  are  leading 

To  the  dead ! 

Happy  are  the  dead  !     But  I, 
I  can  never,  never  die, 

Until  my  hands  are  red  ! 

But  red  they  will  be  soon, 
For  I  turn  my  back  upon  the  moon, 
And  follow  the  bird,  that  doubles  its  speed, 
Eager  to  see  the  horseman  bleed, 
And  dabble  its  beak,  as  I  my  hands, 
In  the  blood  that  shall  crimson  the  desert  sands  ! 


1 66  SONGS    OF    SUMMER. 


THE    SERENADE    OF   MA-HAN-SHAN. 

[CHINA.] 

I. 

Come  to  the  window  now,  beautiful  Yu  Ying ! 
The  new  moon  is  rising,  white  as  the  shell  of  a  pearl : 
Your  honored  father  and  brother 

And  the  guefts  are  ftill  at  table, 
Tipping  the  golden  bottles  — 

But  I  have  ftolen  to  you  ! 
The  rose  looks  over  the  wall 

To  see  who  passes  near : 
Look  out  of  the  window,  you, 

And  see  who  waits  below. 

I  am  a  Mandarin  :  my  plume  is  a  pheasant's  feather : 
The  lady  who  marries  me  may  live  at  court,  if  she 
likes. 

ii. 
I    flood    by    the    pond    to-day ;     hundreds    of    lilies 

bloomed  ; 

And  the  wonderful  keung-flower  grew  in  the  midft 
of  all. 


SONGS    OF    SUMMER.  l6/ 

Whenever  that  marvel  happens 
A  wedding  is  sure  to  follow  : 
It  refts  with  you,  Yu  Ying, 

Speak  !  is  the  wedding  ours  ? 
We  will  dwell  in  Keang-Nan, 

For  I  have  a  palace  there ; 
My  garden  is  leagues  in  length, 
Deer  run  wild  in  the  parks  : 

Cages  of  loories,  macaws  ;  lakes  of  Mandarin  ducks  : 
And  a  lane  bordered  with  peach-trees  :  all  for  sweet 
Yu  Ying. 

in. 
What  means  this  wonderful  light  ?    has   a  second 

moon  arisen  ? 
'Tis  Yu  Ying  at  her  window  !     A  million  of  thanks, 

Yu  Ying! 
Drop  me  your  fan  for  a  gift, 

Or,  better,  a  tress  of  your  hair : 
It  is  but  little  to  give, 

For  I  have  given  my  heart ! 
The  fire-flies  twinkle,  twinkle, 

Under  the  cypress  boughs  : 
They  are  wedding  each  other  to-night, 

The  lights  are  their  wedding  lanterns  ! 
When  shall  I   order  ours,  and  come  in  the   flowery 

chair  ? 

Name  me  the  pearl  of  a  day,  my  bride,  my  wife,  Yu 
Ying! 


l68  SONGS    OF    SUMMER. 


THE    SLEDGE    AT   THE    GATE. 

[LAPLAND.] 

I  WOULD  run  this  arrow  ftraight  into  my  heart 
Sooner  than  see  what  I  saw  to-night ! 

I  harnessed  my  rein-deer,  mounted  the  fledge, 
And  fkimmed  the  snow  by  the  northern  light : 

The  thin  ice  crackled,  the  water  roared, 
But  I  crossed  the  fiord  : 

I  reach  the  house  when  the  night  is  late, 

What's  this  ?  a  deer,  and  a  fledge  at  the  gate  ! 

0  the  eyes  of  Zela  are  winter  springs! 
But  the  wealth  of  summer  is  in  her  hair ; 

But  she  loves  me  not,  she  is  false  again  : 

Or  why  are  the  fledge  and  the  rein-deer  there  ? 

1  throw  myself  down,  face-firft  in  the  snow : 

"Let  the  false  one  go  !  " 
She  never  shall  know  my  love,  or  my  scorn, 
For  I  shall  be  frozen  friff  in  the  morn ! 

The  sharp  winds  blew,  and  my  limbs  grew  chill : 
I  knew  no  more  till  I  felt  the  fire. 


SONGS    OF    SUMMER.  169 

They  rubbed  my  breaft,  and  they  rubbed  my  hands, 

And  my  life  came  back,  like  a  dark  desire. 
She  spake  kind  words,  and  smoothed  my  hair, 

But  the  fledge  was  there! 
"Abfahe^  but  fair  !  "  —  it  was  all  I  said, 
I  ftruck  her  down,  and  away  I  fled ! 

I  mounted  my  fledge,  and  the  rein-deer  flew, 
In  the  wind,  in  the  snow,  in  the  blinding  fleet : 

The  snow  was  heavy,  the  wind  like  a  knife, 
And  the  ice  like  water  under  my  feet. 

The  wolves  were  hungry  —  they  scented  my  track  — 
But  I  fought  them  back! 

I  fear  neither  wolves,  nor  the  winter's  cold, 

For  the  faithless  woman  has  made  me  bold ! 


170  SONGS    OF    SUMMER. 


THE    GRAPE    GATHERER. 

[ITALY.] 

WELL,  I  have  met  you,  cousin, 

Where  not  a  soul  can  see  : 
What  do  you  want  ?  "You  love  me  ?  " 

You  trifle,  Sir,  with  me. 
You  love  that  grape-girl  yonder  — 

The  one  againfl  the  wall : 
She  climbs,  and  climbs  ;  but  have  a  care, 

A  ftep,  and  she  may  fall. 
You  walked  with  her  this  morning, 

Her  bafket  on  your  head  : 
cc  'Twas  better  than  my  coronet," 

Or  something  so,  you  said  : 
"And  the  grapes  and  yellow  tendrils 

Tangled  in  her  hair, 
Were  brighter  than  my  ringlets, 

And  all  the  pearls  I  wear ! " 
You  should  have  seen  her  lover, 

Hid  in  the  vines  hard  by ; 
A  swarthy,  black-browed  fellow, 

With  a  devil  in  his  eye  : 


SONGS    OF    SUMMER.  I JI 

He  clutched  his  grape-hook  fiercely, 

And,  but  that  I  were  near, 
He  would  have  flain  you,  cousin, 

And  will  some  night,  I  fear. 
You  think  she  loves  you  only ! 

And  so  thought  all  the  reft  : 
Why,  you  had  hardly  left  her 

Before  the  Count  was  bleft  ! 
You  doubt  ?     Pray  afk  her  sifter, 

Or  afk  the  jilted  swains  ; 
Or  watch,  when  she's  not  watching, 

'Twill  well  be  worth  your  pains. 
I  should  be  very  angry, 

'Tis  so  unworthy  you  : 
But  since  you  say  "you  jefted," 

I  muft  forgive,  and  do. 
I  own  I  love  you  somewhat ; 

But  ere  you  marry  me, 
You  muft  do  one  thing,  cousin  — 

Let  my  grape  gatherers  be  ! 


172  SONGS    OF    SUMMER, 


SICILIAN    PASTORAL. 

THE  nefts  in  spring  were  full  of  bluish  eggs, 
In  summer  full  of  birds  :  now  autumn  comes 
The  nefts  are  empty,  and  the  birds  are  gone. 

The  soft  white  clouds  are  flecked,  the  iky  is  bound 
With  belts  of  swallows,  ftretching  from  the  weft 
To  where  the  eaft  is  girded  in  with  haze. 

Stay  !  swallows,  ftay  !  the  land  is  near  and  bright, 
The  sea  is  far,  and  dark,  and  perilous, 
And  all  beyond  is  alien,  and  unknown. 

Why  should  ye  fly  so  soon  ?  why  fly  at  all, 
When  ye  might  ftay  with  us  the  long  year  through, 
And  be  in  deathless  summer  all  the  time  ? 

Here  all  the  vales  are  full  of  dewy  flowers, 
The  orchard  plots  are  full  of  juicy  fruits, 
The  endless  purple  woods  are  full  of  balm  ! 


SONGS    OF    SUMMER.  173 

Stay !    swallows,   ftay !    the   flowers,   and   fruit,   and 

balm 

Will  fade  and  die,  when  ye  have  left  the  isle, 
And  winds  will  moan  the  absence  of  your  songs! 

Stay !  swallows,  flay !  and  hear  the  laft  year's  birds  : 
u  We  flew  o'er  many  an  isle  where  summer  broods^ 
But  found  no  summer-land  like  Sicily  !  " 

They  will  not  hear :  we  wafle  our  words  in  air  : 

We  might  as  well  go  chatter  to  the  crows  : 

The  crows  would  hear  us,  though  they  meant  to  go. 

Go!  swallows,  go!  and  be  it  all  your  doom 
To  bear  the  memory  of  what  ye  leave  — 
For  memory  will  cancel  half  the  sin  : 

And  be  it  all  your  punimment  to  sing 

In  tropic  islands  of  Sicilian  sweets, 

And  shame  the  tropic  birds  with  summer  songs ! 


174  SONGS    OF    SUMMER, 


[PERSIA.] 

WE  parted  in  the  ftreets  of  Ispahan. 
I  flopped  my  camel  at  the  city  gate  ; 
Why  did  I  ftop  ?  I  left  my  heart  behind. 

I  heard  the  sighing  of  thy  garden  palms, 

I  saw  the  roses  burning  up  with  love  ; 

I  saw  thee  not :  thou  wert  no  longer  there. 

We  parted  in  the  ftreets  of  Ispahan. 

A  moon  has  passed  since  that  unhappy  day ; 

It  seems  an  age :  the  days  are  long  as  years ! 

I  send  thee  gifts  by  every  caravan ; 

I  send  thee  flafks  of  attar,  spices,  pearls  ; 

I  write  thee  songs  on  golden-powdered  scrolls. 

I  meet  the  caravans  when  they  return. 

"  What  news  ?  "  I  afk  :  the  drivers  make  their  heads 

We  parted  in  the  ftreets  of  Ispahan. 


SONGS    OF    SUMMER.  375 


THE   SEARCH    FOR    PERSEPHONE. 

BOOK    II. 

"  Proserpine  gathering  flowers, 
I  Herself  a  fairer  flower,  by  gloomy  Dis 
/  JVas  gathered,  which  coft  Ceres  all  that  pain 
/     To  seek  her  through  the  world" 


No  more  of  rural  song  and  paftoral, 

Profuse  or  ftudied,  but  a  higher  ftrain ; 

Thee  now  I  woo,  divine  Melpomene  : 

Thou  didft  inspire  tragedians  grave,  of  eld, 

To  sing  of  Godlike  suffering,  and  embalm 

In  monumental  verse  the  woe  of  Gods  ; 

Much  did  they  sing,  but  much  remains  unsung, 

And  chief  Demeter's  woe,  which  now  is  mine. 

O  help  me,  as  thou  didft  thine  elder  bards ; 

Order  the  lofty  numbers,  build  the  ftyle 

In  naked  and  severe  simplicity, 

And  lift  my  spirit  to  the  argument, 

Which  deepens  soon  to  tragic.    Breathe  through  me, 

Voiceless  myself,  and  thine  be  all  the  wreaths. 


176  SONGS    OF    SUMMER. 

/Where  is  Demeter  now  ?  what  troubled  look 
Burthens  her  face,  what  solemn  words  the  air  ? 
Demeter  ftands  beside  the  spring  which  rose 
Where  Aides  vanifhed  with  Persephone  :  / 
Of  port  superior  to  the  loftieft 
Of  mortal  mould,  in  Queen,  or  Amazon 
Renowned,  the  light  and  pillar  of  the  sex ; 
Deep-bosomed,  and  white-limbed,  a  supreme  Shape. 
Her  face  is  pale  with  sorrow,  yet  she  wears 
Her  sorrow  grandly,  like  a  diadem, 
Nor  other  crown,  though  Goddess  of  the  Earth, 
Except  the  simple  tiar  of  golden  hair 
Coiled  round  her  brow,  an  orbed  peak  of  thought. 
Her  voice  is  sadder  than  an  autumn  wind 
In  a  lone  land,  not  shrill,  nor  full  of  gufts, 
But  equal,  and  deep-toned,  blown  from  all  points. 


"  I  have  been  liftening,  wrapt  in  searching  thought, 
To  what,  in  trembling  words,  the  nymphs  revealed, 
But  where  my  child  has  gone,  I  cannot  tell  j 
My  foresight  failed  me  here,  my  knowledge  fails. 
Wisdom  will  come,  till  when  its  place  usurped 
Is  filled  by  grief.      Perchance  some  River  God 
Hath  ftolen  my  child,  whom  he  will  soon  return, 
Unharmed,  for  fear  of  me,  so  potent  I. 
This  fountain  muft  be  queftioned.     Answer  me, 
Soul  of  this  coil  of  foamy  turbulence,  f 


SONGS    OF    SUMMER.  177 

Whether  thou  art  beneath  the  wide,  wafte  sea, 
With  great  Poseidon,  and  his  finny  train, 
Or  in  the  deeps  of  Earth,  in  caves  obscure, 
Up-haftening  to  the  light,  at  this,  my  call,  | 

/Speak,  answer  me,  where  is  Persephone  ? 
Thou  haft  beheld,  and  ftolen  her  away, 
Thou,  or  some  other  spirit  mischievous, 

•  Whose  portal  of  retreat  was  opened  here. 
Where  is  my  daughter  ?     If  I  speak  again, 
The  Earth  will  draw  thy  fountain  to  its  source, 
And  caft  thee  from  her  bosom.     Answer  me ! 
In  vain,  in  vain  :  the  fountain  hath  no  God, 
And  cannot  answer  ;  Godless  let  it  be, 
Stormy  and  bitter  to  the  end  of  time. 
But  you,  ye  lesser  spirits  of  the  vale, 
Cannot  escape,  I  here  compel  ye  all  j 
From  rivers,  brooks,  and  springs,  you  Naiads,,  come, 
With  Napeads  from  the  vale ;  and  from  the  grove 
The  Meliads,  who  here  for  lack  of  flocks 
Muft  tend  the  fruit ;  and  you,  ye  Oreads, 
Both  from  the  valley  and  the  mountain  mifts  ; 
Hither,  and  tell  me  of  Persephone."   ll/jj 

The  Goddess  thus,  and  even  as  she  spake, 
From  rivers,  brooks,  and  springs  the  Naiads  came, 
With  water  lilies  tangled  in  their  hair  j 
The  Napeads  from  the  vale  in  fkirts  of  grass, 

12 


178  SONGS    OF    SUMMER, 

The  Meliads  with  their  white  hands  full  of  fruit ; 
And  all  the  Oreads  from  the  fhifting  mifts, 
Wringing  their  dewy  tresses  on  the  lawn ; 
Obedient  to  the  power  that  summoned  them, 
They  thus  made  answer  in  their  several  turns. 

"  We  are  the  Naiads  of  the  neighboring  ftreams  j 
Below  their  wrinkled  waves  we  live  in  grots, 
Paven  with  furrowed  sands  ;  the  fhelvy  rocks 
Our  thrones,  our  couches  beds  of  humid  moss. 
We  {train  the  water  through  our  golden  hair  : 
With  flowers  we  sow  the  bottom,  and  with  weeds 
Whose  blooms  are  full  of  winds.     We  love  the  fim 
Whose  little  coats  are  fleek  with  glittering  scales : 
The  plated  turtles,  and  defiant  crabs, 
That  lie,  or  crawl  beneath  the  grayifh  ftones, 
The  long-legged  beetles  fkimming  o'er  the  waves, 
With  other  watery  insects,  are  our  care : 
We  know  and  love  the  leaft :  but  as  we  hope 
To  keep  our  silver  urns  forever  full, 
We  all  are  ignorant  of  Persephone." 

"  But  I,"  said  one,  the  Naiad  of  a  lake, 
"  I  saw  the  nymph,  and  fhe  was  lovelier 
Than  all  my  lilies,  whiter  than  my  swans ; 
But  where  fhe  hides  I  know  not,  or  may  fires 
Shed  from  the  Dog-Star  dry  my  fountains  up, 
And  leave  me  fhelterless  on  burning  sands." 


SONGS    OF    SUMMER.  179 

"And  we,"  the  drooping  Napeads  began, 
"  Surrounded  by  her  train  we  saw  the  nymph 
Trip  down  the  vale.     We  woke  the  early  flowers, 
And  turned  the  dew  from  their  enamelled  cups  ; 
Not  one  but  wanted  to  resign  its  life 
Beneath  her  feet :   to  die  such  death  were  sweet : 
She  walked  as  lightly  as  the  winds  of  Spring." 

"  The  winds   of  Spring,"   the  Meliads  broke,  and 

joined 

The  broken  thread  of  speech,  "  the  winds  of  Spring 
Blow  in  old  Winter's  teeth,  and  rouse  the  buds ; 
The  winds  of  Summer  overtake  the  Spring, 
And  swell  the  buds  to  fruit :  both  are  our  care. 
We  screen  the  buds  with  leaves,  remove  the  worms, 
And  drive  away  the  bees,  and  angry  wasps ; 
We  feed  the  fruit  with  sun,  and  wind,  and  dew ; 
The  rinds  of  some  we  gild,  and  some  we  kiss, 
And  leave  our  breath  thereon  in  bluifh  mift. 
We  saw  at  dawn  the  nymph  Persephone 
Loft  in  our  orchards  ;  figs,  and  plums,  and  pears 
Lay  round  in  heaps  ;  we  rained  the  olives  down, 
The  red  pomegranates  split,  and  pierced  the  myrrh, 
And  manna-tree  whose  veins  are  full  of  balm  ! 
With  many  a  sweet  delay  the  virgin  passed. 
But  where  (he  hides  we  know  not,  or  may  blight 
Shrivel  our  leaves,  the  north  winds  nip  our  buds, 


l8o  SONGS    OF    SUMMER. 

And  worms  deftroy  our  fruit,  henceforth  to  be 
More  rich  and  luscious  than  in  other  years  !  " 

"  We  dwell  in  mifts,"  began  the  Oreads  next ; 
"  In  vale  and  mountain  mifts  ;  a  ftreak  of  gold 
Betrays  our  presence  there  j  in  hollow  glens 
We  couch  when  dews  are  dried  :  among  the  hills, 
From  peak  to  peak,  we  float  across  the  gulfs, 
And  leap  in  cataracts  down  the  untouched  crags. 
May  all  our  dews  and  exhalations  fail, 
But  we  are  ignorant  of  Persephone." 

I 

"  Infirm,  and  idle  !  wherefore  do  ye  live, 

If  not  to  see,  and  succour  Excellence, 
When  Excellence  may  need  your  timely  aid  ? 
Is  it  for  this  that  Earth's  maternal  care 
Protects,  and  clasps  ye  to  her  loving  heart  ? 
For  this  Heaven  holds  ye  in  its  sacred  charge  ? 
But  thou,  O  Earth  !  great  Mother  of  Mankind  ! 
If  these,  thine  own  appointed  miniftrants, 
Neglect  their  calling,  thou  mouldft  rise  thyself, 
And  save  the  heavenly  ones  whose  lives  are  thine, 
And  unto  thine  add  joy,  and  length  of  days. 
Back  to  your  homes,  and  little  talks  again, 
Ye  spirits  of  this  dark,  accursed  vale, 
And  leave  me  in  my  loneliness  alone  ! 
To  be  a  Goddess  now  avails  me  not,  / 


SONGS    OF    SUMMER.  l8l 

Nor  yet  to  have  a  Goddess  for  my  child. 
With  fleepless  eyes  the  island  muft  be  searched ; 
Obscure  and  wild  the  dark  retreat  muft  be 
For  me  to  fear ;  a  mother's  eyes  are  keen, 
A  mother's  heart  is  ftrong  to  save  her  child. 
Farewell  ye  groves  of  Enna,  where  we  dwelt ! 
Farewell,  ye  meadows  !  when  I  come  again, 
I  bring  Persephone,  or  come  no  more." 

Thus  spake  Demeter  as  me  crossed  the  vale 
To  search  its  northern  bounds,  which  lovelier  grew 
At  every  ftep,  the  home  and  haunt  of  Spring. 
Through  groves  and  orchards  full  of  piping  birds, 
That  dropped  from  bough  to  bough,  like  falling  buds, 
Through  emerald  meadows  sown  with  silver  dew, 
And  golden  paftures  resonant  with  bees, 
The  Goddess  passed,  with  keen  and  anxious  eyes 
Perusing  all ;  nor  did  me  cease  to  call 
"  Persephone  !  "  —  but  trace  of  her  was  none, 
Save  in  her  fhoutings,  which  the  vale  retained, 
As  hollow  mores  the  voice  of  ebbing  seas. 
Then  through  a  gorge  along  the  eaft  me  went 
The  mountains  on  her  right  fledged  with  dark  pines, 
And  on  her  left  the  long  Nebrodian  range, 
The  craggy  barriers  of  the  northern  iky  ; 
The  wind  blew  downward  from  their  summit  snows 
Freighted  with  winter,  and  the  melting  mift, 


l82  SONGS    OF    SUMMER. 

Heavy  and  damp,  rolled  up  and  down  the  gorge ; 
And  up  and  down  the  gorge  the  Goddess  went, 
Scanning  the  figures  fhrouded  in  the  mift ; 
And  one  by  one  the  Hours  with  solemn  pace 
Did  come  and  go,  and  Morning  was  no  more. 

There  was  a  wild  and  desolate  ravine 
That  wound  along  the  bottom  of  the  pass ; 
Its  mifty  sides  were  dark  with  fhaggy  woods, 
And  from  its  verge,  headlong,  a  river  plunged 
Through  clouds  of  spray,  deep  down  a  troubled  lake, 
Dammed   up  with  rocks,   down  which    it   plunged 

again, 

In  ragged  cataracts,  sullen  and  hoarse ; 
A  narrow  pathway  coiled  on  rocky  fhelves, 
With  fteep  descents  traversed  the  precipice  : 
Down  this  with  wary  feet  Demeter  trod, 
And  searched  the  old  and  melancholy  woods 
Burthened  with  endless  made,  and  solitude, 
And  searched  the  clouded  lake,  and  waterfall, 
And  all  the  cavernous  bases  of  the  hills, 
Deep-sunk  in  earth  ;  no  nook,  nor  secret  cleft, 
In  which  a  spotted  adder  and  her  brood 
Could  coil  away,  escaped  her  fharpened  eye, 
That  found  no  traces  of  Persephone  ; 
So  up  the  pass  with  flow  and  toilsome  fteps 
She  clomb  again,  and  reached  at  laft  a  plain 
That  ftretched  along  the  weft,  and  flept  in  light. 


SONGS    OF    SUMMER.  183 

Till  now  nor  sight  nor  sound  of  man  appeared, 
But  now  at  intervals  fhepherds  were  seen, 
And  notes  of  fhepherd's  flutes  were  heard  afar. 
Here  dwelt  a  paftoral  race  that  wormipped  Pan, 
Nor  far  the  Goddess  journeyed  ere  (he  found 
A  group  around  his  altar ;  reverent  swains 
With  sacrificial  goats,  and  pious  maids 
With  urns  of  honey  wreathed  in  sprigs  of  pine  ; 
And  in  their  midft  the  venerable  Prieft  : 
Deep  awe  pervaded  all  as  thus  me  spake. 

"  Shepherds  !  since  dawn  the  nymph  Persephone 
By  hoftile  force  from  Enna  has  been  ta'en  j 
If  any  man  has  seen  her,  let  him  speak, 
Let  him  not  fear,  but  speak,  and  name  her  path. 
We  both  are  kind  to  you,  nor  love  you  less 
Than  if  you  worfhipped  us,  inftead  of  Pan  ; 
Witness  the  bees  I  charmed  from  Hybla  here, 
When  laft  the  sun  flamed  in  the  vernal  signs, 
With  all  that  mail  hereafter  come  of  good 
To  him,  whose  happy  knowledge  touching  her  — 
If  any  such  there  be  —  lightens  my  heart; 
Good,  if  he  speak,  evil,  if  he  speak  not, 
To  him,  and  all  his  kindred  after  him ; 
But  such  there  cannot  be.  Speak !  shepherds,  speak  !  " 

The  Goddess  thus,  and  paused,  but  none  replied, 


184  SONGS    OF    SUMMER. 

So  deep  the  dread  that  fell  upon  all  hearts  ; 

At  length  the  Prieft  ventured  with  faltering  tongue. 

"  O  great  Demeter  !   Goddess  of  the  Earth  ! 

Impute  not  sin  to  silence,  neither  charge 

Thy  loss  to  us,  participants  therein  — 

For  who  but  suffers  when  the  good  are  wronged  ? 

Forgive  our  ignorance  of  Persephone, 

And  elsewhere  let  thy  juft  displeasure  fall." 

To  whom  Demeter  mild,  and  sad,  returned  ; 
"  Old  man !  'twould  ill  become  the  race  divine, 
Divine  no  less  through  juftice,  than  through  powsr, 
Inftead  of  Wrong,  to  punim  Ignorance. 
For  if  the  Gods  unjuft  and  cruel  prove, 
How  mail  their  worfhippers  be  good  and  kind  ? 
But  fear  not  that ;  lifted  above  the  world, 
No  mortal  frailties  their  perfections  mar. 
Though  sad  at  heart,  right  glad  am  I  withal 
To  see  ye  love  and  reverence  the  Gods  ; 
No  grateful  heart  enjoys  the  leaft  of  gifts 
Without  returning  to  the  giver  thanks, 
And  offering  in  return  the  beft  it  can. 
Not  that  the  Gods  are  ever  paid  thereby, 
For  what  to  them  are  honey,  goats,  or  bulls  ? 
They  need  them  not,  nor  need  they  hymns  of  praise, 
For  they  are  all  sufficient  in  themselves  ; 
Yet  dear  to  them  the  clouds  of  sacrifice, 


SONGS    OF    SUMMER.  185 

That  waft  above  the  prayers  of  thankful  hearts  j 
It  is  their  due,  the  makers  of  mankind." 

Thus  through  her  grief  accents  of  wisdom  fell. 
Assured  thereby  they  bowed,  and  worfhipped  her : 
But  mindful  of  her  search,  too  long  delayed, 
She  journeyed  o'er  the  plain  with  added  speed, 
Till  many-wooded  Etna  came  in  sight, 
And  the  hot  sun  rounded  the  arch  of  Noon, 
Descending  to  its  weftern  base  of  sea. 

Ten  leagues  from  Enna  blue  Simetos  rolled 
Through  osier  banks  his  current  to  the  main. 
Bathing  her  burning  forehead  in  the  waves, 
She  saw  the  image  of  the  River  God, 
Obliquely  mirrored  in  a  bed  of  reeds  ; 
Him  me  addressed,  and  at  her  call  he  rose, 
With  dripping  locks  crowned  with  a  wreath  of  sedge. 
"  Son  of  Oceanos  !  whom  ocean  owns 
No  longer  for  its  God,  but  ftill  doth  hide 
In  some  deep  cavern,  while  Poseidon  rules 
His  sovereignty  of  sea  —  beloved  of  both, 
Divine  Simetos  !  if  thou  haft  beheld 
Since  early  dawn  the  nymph  Persephone, 
Stolen  from  Enna  by  some  Power  unknown,  — 
Haply  from  spring,  or  ftream,  or  far-off  main, 
Unfold  what  thou  doft  know  :  or  knowing  naught 


l86  SONGS    OF    SUMMER. 

Since  I  would  cross  thy  current  in  my  search, 
Draw  back  thy  waters  to  their  mountain  source 
And  let  me  pass  ;  so  may  the  mountain  snows 
Fail  not  to  brim  thy  fountain,  and  thy  mates, 
Camsorus,  Chrysos,  and  bright  Eryces, 
Empty  their  urns  of  tribute  at  thy  feet." 

"  O  great  Demeter  !  Mother  of  the  Earth  ! 
Sower  of  seed,  and  source  of  fruitfulness  ! 
With  grief  I  hear  thy  melancholy  voice, 
Laden  with  loss,  which  I  cannot  repair, 
For  naught  hath  passed  since  dawn.    I  will  draw  back 
My  current  to  its  source,  and  let  thee  cross." 

Thus  he,  and  northward  buffeted  the  waves, 
Till  loft  around  the  river's  weftward  curve  ; 
Reaching  its  source  he  sealed  its  secret  urn, 
And  ftayed  the  current,  which  rolled  on  below, 
And  left  a  gulf,  through  which  the  Goddess  passed, 
With  unwet  sandals  over  waves  of  grass, 
Through  rounded  walls  of  cryftal,  rolling  down 
Tumultuous  in  her  rear,  in  crumbled  foam, 
That  fhut  the  pass,  and  followed  in  her  path, 
Until  me  gained  the  river's  eaftern  bank, 
And  fhouted  to  Simetos,  who  unsealed 
The  dripping  urn,  when  all  the  waters  closed, 
And  sought  the  sea  again,  as  ftie  her  child. 


SONGS    OF    SUMMER.  ly 

Her  path  now  wound  about  the  southern  base 
Of  Etna,  floping  to  the  river's  edge  ; 
Here  Polyphemos  fed  his  numerous  flock, 
That  lay  like  drifts  of  snow  in  dreamy  vales. 
Until  Demeter's  fhadow,  dark  and  tall. 
Searching  the  uplands  chased  them  o'er  the  hills ; 
All  fled  in  fear,  save  one  whose  lamb  was  loft, 
A  fearless  ewe,  that  to  the  Goddess  came, 
And  made  its  sorrow  known  with  piteous  tears  ; 
She  would  have  left  it  in  the  fields,  but  lo  ! 
It  followed  her,  and  bleated  for  its  lamb. 
So  towards  the  sea  they  went,  and  reached  at  laft 
Its  rippled  margent,  where  the  Cyclops  lay, 
Under  a  ledge  of  rocks  that  made  a  cave ; 
Beside  his  feet  a  nameless  river  ran, 
Now  named  and  known  from  Acis,  buried  there. 
Here  Polyphemos  languifhed  in  the  sun ; 
Like  some  rude  idol  duik  barbarians 
Adore  no  longer,  tumbled  from  its  base. 
Thrice  did  the  Goddess  fhout  a  mighty  fhout 
Above  his  couch,  before  he  ftirred  a  limb, 
Then  flow,  and  sullen,  he  arose  and  frowned  j 
But  {he   flood  calm    as   Thought,    nor    feared   his 
ftrength. 

"  O  Polyphemos !  great  Poseidon's  son  ! 
Nobleft  of  all  the  Cyclopean  race  ! 


J88  SONGS    OF    SUMMER. 

Shepherd  of  Etna,  and  its  thousand  flocks, 

From  thee,  Demeter  claims  a  patient  ear, 

Attentive  to  her  sorrow  and  despair, 

That  seek  the  footprints  of  Persephone, 

Stolen  from  Enna  by  some  wanton  Power ; 

Not  thee  me  fain  would  hope,  since  thou  art  great, 

And  fhould'ft  be  kind,  for  kindness  is  the  ftar 

That  crowns  all  greatness,  therefore  crowneth  thee, 

If  thou  haft  harmed  not  her  defenceless  child, 

Sunk,  as  thou  seem'ft,  in  sorrow  and  despair, 

From  ills  unknown  to  her,  for  which  nathless 

She  grieves,  and  pities  thee,  as  thou  doft  her, 

Meaning  to  tell  her  of  Persephone  ; 

Till  when  me  waits,  a-hungered  for  thy  voice." 

Thus  with  wise  words,  like  oil  upon  the  sea 
Swollen  with  ftorm,  me  laid  his  rising  ire, 
And  smoothed  his  rugged  features  to  a  calm. 

"  Not  I,"  he  said,  u  not  I  have  done  this  thing, 
Whoever  may ;  not  I  go  ftealing  maids  : 
I  live,  and  die,  for  Galatea  alone. 
Why,  I  have  lain  all  night  in  falling  dew, 
And  sang  of  Galatea  to  every  ftar ; 
And  I  have  fhouted  from  the  cloven  peaks 
Until  the  Thunder  answered  from  his  cave, 
While  ftartled  Lightnings  glared  from  parting  clouds  ! 


SONGS    OF    SUMMER.  189 

"  O  Galatea!  divineft  Galatea! 
Well  I  remember  when  I  saw  thee  firft ! 
'Twas  when  at  noon  I  lay  along  the  bank 
Of  blue  Simetos,  where  my  thirfty  flock 
Crowded  and  pumed  until  the  lamb  fell  in, 
To  drown,  but  for  thy  help,  so  ftrong  the  tide 
That  bore  it  out  beyond  my  reaching  crook, 
But  not  beyond  those  delicate  hands  of  thine, 
Reaching  from  out  the  lilies  that  concealed 
Thy  whiter  breaft,  to  which  the  lamb  was  drawn, 
Bleating  for  joy,  and  safely  borne  amore, 
Beneath  thy  loosened  hair,  that  like  a  veil 
Fell  to  thy  feet,  and  sowed  a  fhower  of  pearl ! 
O  Cyclops  !  Cyclops !  it  were  well  for  thee, 
Had  thy  one  eye  been  blinded  like  Orion's, 
Or  ever  thou  hadfl  seen  that  fatal  sight ! 

"  But  hearken  yet,  Demeter,  let  me  speak, 
And  I  will  guide  thee  to  the  mountain  path 
That  winds  about  the  forges  of  Hephaestos. 

"Again  at  noon  fhe  came,  and  fed  the  lamb 
With  handfuls  of  long  grass,  and  wove  the  flowers 
To  crown  her  dripping  tresses  while  I  went 
Through  Hybla,  drumming  on  the  hollow  oaks 
Swarming  with  bees,  till  I  had  rilled  my  cup 
With  lucent  honey,  which  I  gave  to  her  ; 


SONGS    OF    SUMMER. 

For  then  me  did  not  fear  to  let  me  sit 

Beside  her  feet,  nor  fear  my  gifts  of  love  ; 

But  when  me  left  me,  floating  like  a  swan 

To  seek  the  sea  again,  blew  kisses  back ! 

Had  I  been  bleft  with  fins,  like  happy  fim, 

I  would  have  followed  in  her  glittering  wake, 

And  scared  away  the  amorous  River  Gods ; 

But  had  I  been  a  River  God  myself, 

I  would  have  dived  to  her  in  the  cold  deeps ; 

Be  sure  I  had  not  failed  to  find  her  there, 

For  ruffled  waves  are  clear  as  air  to  me ; 

And  oft,  at  noon,  I  watched  her  rising  flow 

Through  mimmering  leagues  of  water,  like  a  ftar. 

<e  I  gave  her  ten  young  fawns  as  black  as  night, 
Soft-eyed,  and  delicate,  with  silver  feet, 
With  each  a  collar,  and  a  chain  of  pearl. 
She   clapped  her  hands  for  joy,  and  smoothed   my 

cheek 

Until  I  laughed,  and  wept  :  her  hands  were  soft ; 
But  mine  are  rougher  than  the  mountain  briars  ! 

"But  hearken  ftill,  and  let  me  speak  again, 
For  now  I  touch  upon  my  grief,  and  loss, 
Which  had  not  been  but  for  another's  love 
Thruft  in  between  mine  own  and  Galatea, 
Whom  all  the  shepherds  worshipped,  but  afar, 


SONGS    OF    SUMMER.  IQ 

Till  Acis  came,  and  spake.     How  did  he  dare 
Step  in  between  the  Cyclops,  and  his  love  ? 
And  how  could  {he  endure  his  boyifh  face 
Half-hid  in  yellow  ringlets,  after  me, 
Whose  mighty  heart  pulsed  fire  at  every  beat ! 

"  But  let  me  speak  again,  and  I  have  done. 
I  sat,  last  eve,  upon  the  flope  of  hills, 
What  time  the  sunset  tipped,  as  now,  the  woods, 
And  saw  a  double  fhadow  on  the  mead, 
Two  fhadows  clasped  in  one,  with  kissing  lips  ; 
'Twas  Acis,  and  the  faithless  Galatea. 
They  were  too  busy  then  to  think  of  me, 
But  I  —  I  saw  them  there,  and  spake  no  word, 
But  crept  in  silence,  up  from  peak  to  peak, 
Till,  with  sore  labor,  {training  all  my  ftrength, 
I  lifted  from  its  bed  a  crap;  of  rock, 

D  ' 

And  caft  it  down  upon  the  dreaming  fools, 
Thinking  to  crum  them  both,  nor  had  I  failed, 
But  that  its  falling  madow  like  a  cloud 
Startled  the  nymph,  who  suddenly  leaped  aside 
To  see  him  crufhed,  and  buried,  where  he  ftood, 
Jammed  in  the  hard  cold  earth,  despite  his  moans ; 
Nor  might  her  tears,  which  fell  around  like  rain, 
Nor  all  her  prayers,  reftore  him  to  her  arms, 
Unless  me  found  him  in  the  turbid  ftream 
Which  gumed  from  out  the  rock,  and  followed  her, 
Flying  with  ftirieks  of  terror  to  the  sea ! 


IQ2  SONGS    OF    SUMMER. 

"  But  come,  Demeter,  let  us  rise  and  go  ; 
The  lean  gray  wolves  will  soon  begin  to  prowl, 
And  I  muft  pen  my  flocks;  but  let  us  go." 

Thus  Polyphemos  told  his  tale  of  love  : 
And  spying  at  his  feet  the  bleating  ewe, 
He  lifted  it  with  care  in  his  rough  arms, 
And  led  the  Goddess  from  the  foamy  beach, 
Full  to  the  weft  again,  where  now  the  Sun 
Had  plunged  his  broad  red  disc  in  seas  of  cloud. 

1851. 


SONGS    OF    SUMMER.  193 


THE   BURDEN   OF   UNREST. 

I. 

FROM  our   bridal  chamber,  dearer!,  we  behold  the 

ftretch  of  bay ; 
From  the  window  watch  the  sunset,  mirrored  on 

its  glassy  floor  : 
Here  in  brightness,  there  in  fhadow,  trace  the  fading 

fteps  of  Day, 
Fainting  in  the  weft  behind  us,  dying  on  the  solemn 

fhore. 
Splendors  on  the  liquid  surface,  isles  of  purple,  waves 

of  gold ; 

On  the  peaks  of  cloudy  mountains  ftreaks  of  red 
and  lurid  fires, 

Blackening,  as  the  eve  expires, 
Like  December's  lateft  embers  turning  now  to  afhes 

cold. 

Kiss  me  ere  I  lose  you  wholly,  in  the  darkness  mel 
ancholy  ; 

Through  the  gloom  that  gathers  round  us   leave 
your  little  hand  in  mine  : 

13 


194  SONGS    OF    SUMMER. 

Now  grow  dimmer,  Night !  and  glimmer, 

Till  the  ftars  begin  to  mine : 

We  are  folded  from  the  darkness  in  a  cloud  of  light 
divine  ! 

IT. 
Are  you  happy,  sweeteft  ?     Do  you  in  your  spirit 

feel  serene  ? 
I  am  saddened,  I  am  reftless,  and  I  feel  the  touch 

of  tears  ; 
Not  for  any  recent  sorrow,  but  the  season,  and  the 

scene, 
And  the  yet  remembered  burden  of  my  desolated 

years  ! 
You  are  happy,  I  can  see  it,  dawning  on  your  pallid 

cheek, 
And   your    clasping  hand    confesses   all    my   love 

desires  to  know ; 

So  I  pray  you,  while  you  liften,  let  my  troubled  spirit 
speak, 

And  in  words  relieve  its  woe. 
I  am  not  of  those  who  babble,  be  my  suffering  what 

it  may  j 
Not  for  me  poetic  whining ;  all  such  weakness  I 

despise  : 

With  my  nature  wrapt  around  me  I  pursue  my  silent 
way, 


SONGS    OF    SUMMER. 

While  a  vague  but  settled  purpose  hardens   in  my 

dreamy  eyes  ! 

Yet  the  silence  weighs  upon  me,  and  the  night  de 
mands  a  tongue ; 
Therefore  let  me  speak,  my  darling !  even  let  my 

soul  complain  ; 

Years  of  utter  silence  give  me  right  to  speak  what 
will  relieve  me, 

Right  to  babble  like  the  young, 
Since  it  will  relieve  my  pain  : 

Hear  me,  then,  and  my  confession  mall  not  trouble 
you  again  ! 

III. 
I. 

Ah !  that  bitter,  bitter  burden  !  who  besides  myself 

has  known  it? 
From  a  myriad  I  was  singled  for  its  miniftry  and 

doom  : 
None  that  bear  it,  if  there  be  such,  have  the  honefty 

to  own  it ; 

Living  they  are  voiceless,  and  voiceless  is  the  tomb  ! 
I  that  bore  it,  I  that  bear  it,  hardly  underftand  it  yet ; 
'Tis  not  easy  to  see  clearly  through  the  diftance  of 

regret. 
Firft  were  longings,  vague  and  hopeless  as  the  glances 

caft  above, 


196  SONGS    OF    SUMMER. 

When  the  moon  and  ftars  are  mining  in  the  infinite 
of  night ; 

Then  a  dream  of  something  bright ; 

'Twas  the  bliss,  the  sorrow  —  Love! 
With  love  my  dreams  grew  clear,  and  from  out  their 

fkirts  of  mift, 

Clad  in  robes  of  white,  came  a  bevy  of  fair  girls  ; 
Each  a  fairy  princess,  a  fairy  lover  kissed, 
On  her  drooping  eyelids,  on  her  golden  curls, 
And  the  red  mouth,  dropping  pearls  ! 
From  sweet  lips  plucking  kisses,  from  bright  eyes 

drinking  flame, 
From  warm  hearts  hoarding  passion,  what  heart 

had  I  for  care  ? 
A  cavalier  of  olden  time,  my  love  a  noble  dame, 

While  lavifh  Fancy  built  me  a  caftle  in  the  air ! 
To  airy  jousts  and  tournaments  I  rode  in  gallant  mow  ; 
No  matter  who  opposed  me,  I  cleared  the  tented 

field  5 

A  lady's  favor  on  my  creft,  a  heart  upon  my  fhield, 
A  bleeding  heart  below ! 

2. 
I  was  young,  that  was  the  reason,  why  my  fancy  was 

so  wild ; 

And  'tis  natural  to  love,   in    the   simpleness   of 
youth , 


SONGS    OF    SUMMER.  IQ7 

Even  in  manhood,  if  it  keepeth  any  remnant  of 
its  truth : 

Surely  then  it  was  a  trifle,  in  a  child  ! 
Nay,  though  I  have  learned  to  hate  it,  with  a  hoft  of 

weighty  reasons, 
(Holding  true  to  its  Ideal,  in  the  midft  of  all   my 

hate  !) 

There  are  none,  I  think,  exempted,  none  but  suffer 
in  their  seasons, 

Loved  and  loving,  soon  or  late. 
Loveless,  friendless,  from  the  firft,  and  with  solitude 
accurft, 

My  soul  did  sigh,  and  moan  : 
I  wanted  some  one  near  me,  some  loving  one  to 

cheer  me  ; 
For  who  can  cheerful  be,  or  good,  or  human,  when 

alone  ! 

Mine  eyes  went  searching  round,  for  something  never, 
seen, 

By  either  Night,  or  Day  ; 
I  ftretched  my  arms  to  clasp  my  fancy's  queen, 

That  paragon  of  clay  ! 
I  ftretched  my  loving  arms,  and  clasped  her  in  my 

fleep, 

Wound  myself  about  her  in  a  coil  of  fire  ; 
And  my  hot  lips  kissed  her  with  passionate  desire, 
Brow,  and  face,  and  bosom,  until  I  woke  to  weep  I 


IQO  SONGS    OF    SUMMER. 

3' 

Thrilling  with  my  youthful  longings,  which  antici 
pated  thee, 
Dreams  were   mine  of  bridal  chambers,  and  they 

colored  all  my  song  ; 
Like  the  rosy  hues  of  evening,  settling  yonder  on  the 

sea, 
Blending  with  the  waves,  whose  motion  wafts  the 

dying  flame  along! 
But  my  songs  were  of  the  senses,  running  over  with 

desire  -y 
Dim    seraglios   in  the  tropics,    fteeped  in    all   their 

bloom  and  fire ; 
Shaded   lamps,   and   burning   odors  ;    flagons  of  the 

ripeft  wine  ; 
Purple    curtains,  downy    couches,    and    sultannas 

veiled  in  tresses  ; 

Sighing  rapture,  mowering  kisses,  intertwining  laft 
caresses, 

And  the  ecftasy  divine. 
Is  it  any  wonder,  deareft,  now  the  madness  is  con- 

feft, 

Now  the  road  again  is  traversed,  every  bramble, 
every  thorn, 

Where  the  feet  of  youth  were  torn, 
That  my  burning  years  were  wafted  with  the  Burden 
of  Unreft  ? 


SONGS    OF    SUMMER. 
IV. 

When  the  flower  of  youth  is  on  us,  and  the  heart  of 

youth  is  warm, 

And  the  passions  are  awakening  with  the  warranty 
of  heaven, 

Sins  of  passion  may  be  looked  for :  will  not  do  us 
any  harm ; 

Muft  be  overlooked,  forgiven  ! 

God  himself  is  Love,  they  tell  us ;  surely  he'll  for 
give  us  then : 

Punifh   all  who  err  in  loving,  you  deftroy  the  race  of 
men  ! 

Loving,  I  muft  not  be  fettered,  but  muft  rove  where 
e'er  I  please  ; 

You,  dear  women,  are  but  flowers,  we,  poor  men, 
are  only  bees  ! 

As  for  me,  I  am  a  poet,  with  the  fuller!  license  here  ; 

Favorite  of  the  gods,  they  wink  at  all  my  peccadil 
loes  dear : 

But  'tis  none  for  me  to  love  you,  for  I  never  do  you 
wrong  ; 

If  I  rob  you  of  your  honey,  don't  I  pay  you  with  my 
song  ? 

Turn  !  no  virtuous  surprise, 

You  are  willing,  there's  a  witness  in  your  dear  con 
senting  eyes  ! 

Like  a  Bacchante  wild  with  revel,  intertangled  in  a 
vine, 


200  SONGS    OF    SUMMER. 

With   his  flagons  running  over  till  his  feet  are  deep 

in  wine  — 
Oh,  what  days  of  fiery  passion,  oh,  what  wafting 

nights  were  mine  ! 


V. 
I. 

I  lived  the  life  the  gods  live,  so  beautiful  and  ftrong ; 
So  right  in  all  its  sweetness,  in  all  its  sin  so  wrong  : 
The  life  that  youth  delights  in,  and  lives,  but  lives 

not  long ; 

For  either  falls  a  darkness  that  palls  upon  the  clay, 
Or  comes  the  King  of  Darkness,  and  bears  the  soul 

away ! 
Nor  know  I  which  is  saddeft,  the  dying,  and  the 

tomb, 

Or  the  living,  and  the  doom  ! 

2. 
By  the  hell  within  my  bosom,  I  am  hurried  to  and 

fro; 
Juft  to  see  the  waters  flowing,  juft  to  hear  the  breezes 

blow  : 
Whether  I  am  crufhing  flowers,  whether  wading  in 

the  snow, 


SONGS    OF    SUMMER.  201 

Know  I  never:  no  such  knowledge  will  avail  my 

foolifh  woe ! 
Up  and  down  the  noisy  city,  in  its  dufty,  crowded 

ftreets, 
Where  its  ocean  of  exiftence  on  the  ftony  pavement 

beats ; 
When  the  sun  from  morn  to  even  flounders  in  a 

wafte  of  clouds  ; 
When  the  sickly  lamps  are  flickering,  dying  in  their 

ftormy  fhrouds  : 
In  a  fhroud  of  anguifh  walking,  like  a  corpse  that 

mould  be  dead, 
Or  a  dreamer  in  his  flumbers,  by  a  horrid  phantom 

led; 
(Through   the   dim,   myfterious    chambers,    up   the 

spirit-haunted  flairs, 
Down  the  house-top,  while  the  watchers  hum  their 

unavailing  prayers  !) 
Up  and  down  the   silent  city,  through  the  dreary 

blank  of  walls  ; 
Where  the  houses  drift  forever,  where  the  ftarless 

ftiadow  falls  ! 

3- 
Weary  is  exiftence,  will  it  never  end  ? 

Shall  I  never  know  it — death's  eternal  fleep  ? 

Death  !   I  have  no  other,  won't  you  be  my  friend  ? 

I  cannot  live  so  longer !  I  cannot  even  weep ! 


202  SONGS    OF    SUMMER. 

VI. 
I. 

Weep  ?  and  wherefore  fhould  I  ?     Grief  is  unavail 
ing) 
And  tears  are  not  for  manhood ;  we  muft  not  whine 

like  boys  : 

The  malice  of  our  natures  is  ancient,  and  unfailing ; 
The  gods  are  jealous  of  us,  their  images  and  toys  ! 
They  sit  up  in  the  clouds  there,  and  do  whate'er 

they  please, 
While  men  walk  in  the  duft  here,  and  follow  their 

decrees ! 
And  I  am  one  among  ye,  ye  myriads  of  men, 

Though  not  like  ye  in  essence,  nor  like  ye  curft 

and  bleft  : 
For  ye  in  alternation  may  weep,  and  smile  again, 

While  I  am  always  laden  with  burdens  of  unrefl. 
What  have  ye  done,  what  do  ye,  unless  indeed  your 

worft, 

Ye  many  as  the  grasses,  or  billows  of  the  main  ? 
But  billows  flow,  and  grasses  grow,  as  ordered  from 

the  firftj 

But   ye,  how  are  ye  growing  ?       What  learn  ye 
here,  save  pain  ? 

2. 
Ye  live  upon  a  grand  old  world  in  unimagined  space  ; 


SONGS    OF    SUMMER.  203 

Beneath  ye   verdant  continents,  the  heaving  seas 

around  ; 

Above,  a  hoft  of  ftarry  lights  that  flare  ye  in  the  face, 
Or  would,  indeed,  but   that  your   eyes  are   fixed 

upon  the  ground  ! 
Why  frare  ye  on  the  ground  so,  when  flars  are  in 

the  fky  ? 
Is  it  to  watch  the  spring-flowers  that  twinkle  in 

the  mold? 
Not  so :  nor  think  ye  of  your  graves,  though  Death 

is  ever  nigh, 
But  only  of  the  gold  beneath,  the  cursed,  cursed 

gold! 
When  ye  were  boys,  my  brothers,  in  the  merry  years 

of  old, 
There  was  a  pomp  and  beauty  about  the  changing 

day; 
Some  little  worth  in  youth  and  love,  some  grief  at 

their  decay ; 
But  the  world  has  taught  ye  better;  there's  nothing 

now  but  Gold  ! 

Ye  worfhip  golden  idols,  no  matter  what  they  be, 
Were  I  well  gilded  over,  ye'd  worfhip  even  me  ! 
Forever  o'er  the  ledger,  (its  missal,)  Trade  is  bent, 
And  the  age  responds,  (its  sole  amen !)  "  Per  cent  I 

per  cent !  per  cent  !  " 

Were  this  all,  I  would  not  murmur  :  Nay  !  I  do  not 
murmur  now ; 


204  SONGS    OF    SUMMER. 

There  is  something  in  the  cuftom  even   I  myself 

avow  ; 

There's  a  dignity  in  dollars,  and  a  wisdom  hid  in  gold, 
Which  the  poor  man  cannot  fathom,  howsoever  wise 

and  bold. 

3- 

Not  for  this  I  blame  ye,  brothers,  nor  that  ye  reject 

the  flowers, 
See  no  glory  in  the  ftarlight,  know  no  meaning  in 

the  wind  ; 
Not  for  angels  look  I,  hope  I,  in  a  world  like  this  of 

ours; 

I  only  afk  for  men^  but  men  I  cannot  find. 
All  your  actions,  public,  private,  lack  a  certain  manly 

tone; 
Either  ye  are  arrant  cowards,  else  ye  are  absurdly 

brave  : 
Either  to  himself,  or  others,  man  is  more  or  less  a 

flave, 
Not  the  king  and  god  he  mould  be,  with  his  heavenly 

realm  and  throne. 
In   yourselves  ye  might  be  royal,   might  be    every 

thing  ye  would ; 
But  for  help  ye  call  in  others,  when  the  one  alone  is 

good  ! 
Firft  in  youth  your  hearts  are  tender ;  (granite,  not 

so  hard  as  mine  !) 


SONGS    OF    SUMMER.  2O5 

And  with 'melting  eyes  ye  wander,  and  ye  sigh 

your  souls  away : 
Others  answer,  'tis  their  inftincl: ;    both  your  lufty 

arms  entwine, 

Both  are  kissing  painted  clay ! 
Who  would  pin   his   faith   on   woman,  whom   the 

lighteft  whim  can  move  ? 
There  is  something  half  degrading  in  the  very  name 

of  love  ! 
Love  yourselves,  your  dogs,  your  horses,  even  the 

cheats  of  dice  and  wine  ; 
But  for  women  —  would  your  fancies  were  but  half 

as  free  as  mine ! 

4- 

Then  ye  call  in  priefts  and  monarchs,  and  are  fain 
to  summon  more ; 

But  they  fhut  and  bar  the  door : 

Man  within  himself  is  prisoned,  and  his  jailers  guard 
the  cell, 

Terrible  with  bridling  bayonets,  and   the    keys  of 
heaven  and  hell : 

Hell  with  all  its  noxious  vapors  never  spawned  such 
deadly  twins  : 

Priefts  and  monarchs !  ye  muft  answer  all  our  aggre 
gated  sins ! 

From  our  weakness  and  our  error,  working  on  our 
love  and  terror, 


2O6  SONGS    OF    SUMMER. 

Priefts  have  fhapen  many  idols,  and  are  fhaping 

many  more : 
Each  in  his  peculiar  fafhion  elevates  some  human 

passion, 

Deifies  some  mortal  evil  for  his  fellows  to  adore. 
Pillared    temples,    marble    ftatues,    smoking   altars, 

silver  fhrines, 

Formed  the  frame  of  ancient  creeds: 
Moftly,  all  the  moderns  keep  it,  with  a  score  of  new 

designs, 

Pictures,  crucifixes,  beads ! 
And    to  bind  our  spirits  firmer,   working  in   their 

addled  brains, 
Priefts   have  feigned,  or  found,  and  added  hell  itself 

to  their  domains. 
'Tis  enough  to  make  one  merry!    Nay!   I  care  not 

for  your  ban ; 
Good  my  mafters,  hell  is  only  in  the  wicked  heart  of 

man : 
The  black  hearts  that  have  enflaved  us,  since  the 

very  world  began ! 

5- 

Also  you,  ye  gilded  monarchs,  in  your  tinsel  robes 

of  state, 
Ye  are  cheats  and  demons  also,  worthy  our  pro- 

foundeft  hate ! 


SONGS    OF    SUMMER.  20/ 

And  ye  have  it,  and  my  counsel  does  not  end  in 

hate  alone  ; 
Up !    ye   nations !  kill    your    tyrants !    level    prison, 

palace,  throne  ! 
Yet  I  know  not,  nor  advise  ye.     Why  fhould  ye 

again  be  free  ? 
Vassals !  even  when  ye  are  so,  ye  are  soon  enflaved 

again  : 

Slavery  has   made  ye   heedful ;    use  has  made  your 
fetters  needful ; 
Let  them  be ! 

Think  what  bayonets  oppose  ye  ;  think  what  thou 
sands  muft  be  flain  ; 
Think  of  Liberty's  disafters  ;  think  of  grim  Religion's 

key, 

Then,  go  supplicate  your  matters,  soul  and  body  on 
its  knee, 

Slaves  again ! 

Slaves,  I  hate  ye!  hew  your  wood,  and  draw  your 
water ; 

'Tis  the  best  for  dogs  like  you  ; 
Beasts   of    burden!    bear   your    burdens,   march    to 

(laughter! 

Hecatombs,  the  earth  demands  it!     Blood!  it  fattens 
her  like  dew ! 

6. 

Up!    be  merry!  never  think!     Eat  and  drink!  eat 
and  drink! 


208  SONGS    OF    SUMMER. 

In  the  hell  of  this  existence  make  whatever  heaven 
ye  can  : 

Clink  your  glasses,  toast  your  lasses, 
Be  no  longer  God,  but  man ! 
Clink  your  glasses,  toast  your  lasses,  set  the  table  in 

a  roar ! 

There's  a  vacant  chair  beside  ye  ;  there's  a  fhadow 
on  the  floor, 

And  a  knocking  at  the  door ! 

Shout  and  drown  it !  'tis  but  fancy  j  merry  till  your 
dying  breath ; 

Merry  in  the  teeth  of  Death  ! 
Talk  no  longer  of  repentance ;    once  indeed  —  but 

all  is  past : 

Good  or  evil,  'tis  no  matter  :  we  mall  all  be  damned 
at  last ! 

VII. 
I. 

Peace,  wild  dreamer !  cease  this  raving !  'tis  a  mad 
ness  in  the  brain  ; 

Even  were  it  true,  why  say  it  ?     What  will  be  the 
end,  the  gain  ? 

Waves  may  murmur,  thunders  roll, 

Silence  is  the  only  answer  of  a  self-collected  soul. 

Though  I  fall,  in  darkness  groping,  I  mail  yet  behold 
the  light ; 


SONGS    OF    SUMMER.  2OQ 

There  are  many  gaping  ruins  in  the  temple  of  my 

heart ; 
But  the  holy  light  will  enter  like  the  tempeft  and  the 

night, 

Beating  on  me,  as  I  wander  in  the  corridors  apart ! 
In  my  youth  I  thought  to  perifh  :  youth  has  gone, 

and  I  remain  ; 
Some  great  mock  will  fall  upon  me,  and  will  make 

me  calm  again : 
Nay,    my    calmness    is   returning:    torture   has   not 

wrung  in  vain. 
Beauty  ftirs  again  my  nature,  not  in  suns  and  moons 

alone, 
But    in    thoughts    that   breathe  repentance,   and   in 

actions  that  atone  : 

Nature  folds  me  to  her  bosom,  in  her  unity  enmrined, 
Like  a  mell  within  the  ocean,  or  a  thought  within 

the  mind. 
Even  Love,  the  dream,  remaineth  ;  wears  a  kind  of 

hopeful  smile : 
Pve  no  faith  in   his   fulfilment,  but  he   may  remain 

awhile  ! 

2. 
And   mine   the   Paradise    of  books,   the    heaven    of 

classic  lore  ; 
The  dreams  of  sage  philosophers,  the  songs  of  bards 

of  yore  : 

M- 


2IO  SONGS    OF    SUMMER. 

I  brood   upon  their  pages,  and  pen  my  own  sweet 

books, 

Nor  pine,  for  that  is  over,  for  woman's  loving  looks  ! 
Sometimes  a  tone  of  music,  an  old  familiar  ftrain 
Reminds  me  of  my  feelings,  recalls  my  former  pain  : 
Something  about  the  organ,  a  fhrill  yet  muffled  tone, 
A  rich  melodious  fretfulness,  a  snarling  silver  moan  : 
But  I  rarely  heed  its  sorrow,  I  know  its  syren  charms  ; 
Nor  need  I  liften  to  it,  for  in  my  liftening  brain 

Is  many  a  richer  ftrain, 

Lays  to  bury  Youth  to,  or  rouse  the  world  in  arms  ! 
So  armed  with  calm  endurance  I  frame  my  glowing 

lays, 
Embalming  in  forgetfulness  the  burden  of  my  days ! 

3- 

And  when  the  days  are  ended,  and  come  the  dufky 

nights, 

Glimmering  in  my  chamber,  I  let  my  fancy  roam  ; 
Watching  from  the  window  the  twinkling  city  lights, 

The  people  going  home  ! 
I   cross  my  neighbor's  threfhold,  and  softly  mount 

the  ftairs, 
But  for  all  my  ftealthy  creeping,  no  ftep  of  mine 

is  missed  ; 

For  the  wifely  face  surprises  me,  like  a  vision,  un 
awares, 


SONGS    OF    SUMMER.  211 

And  the  little  ones  run  to  me,  to  be  taken  up  and 

kissed  ! 
The    dear   old    feelings   waken,    the    sad  old    times 

return  ;  . 
Perchance  I  fhed  a  tear  or  two,  or  heave  a  flifled 

sigh  : 

But  the  cheerful  merry  lamp  comes  in,  the  merry 
fagots  burn, 

And  I  put  the  darkness  by  ! 

4- 
Then  come  the  long  and  dreamy  nights,  the  hours 

of  classic  ease  ; 

What  honey-throated  Plato  says,  and  what  Miaeonides ; 
The  songs  I  sing,  the  books  I  pen,  the  thought  I 

undergo ; 

That  sweet  laborious  idleness  that  poets  only  know  ! 
I  keep  the  watches  of  the  night,  the  deeper  hours  of 

morn, 
Till  o'er  the  silent  sea  of  fleep  my  spirit's  bark  is 

borne  ! 
Save  when   the   melancholy  wind  is  moaning  in  the 

ftreet, 
When  falls  the  rain  upon  the  roof,  when  drives  the 

icy  fleet ; 
Or  when   the    mournful    midnight  bell    awakes  its 

funeral  toll, 


212  SONGS    OF    SUMMER. 

And  fhakes  the  air,  as  o'er  its  waves  the  iron  echoes 

roll; 
Then  flare  I  on  the  dying  lamp,  the  embers  on  the 

hearth, 
The  thickening  gloom,  the  empty  room,  and  grow 

alone  on  earth  ; 
Then  turn  I  in  my  reftless  bed,  and  feel  upon  my 

bread 
A  weight  like  lead,  and  not  the  head,  the  heart  that 

there  mould  reft ! 
And  in  my  dreams  I   seem  to  drift  along  a  barren 

land, 
Where   ftrikes    the    moon    on    ruined  walls,  where 

muffled  figures  ftand  : 
The  waves  are  laid,  the  winds  are  ftill,  yet  over  all 

the  more 
There   haunts    a    voice,  there  broods   a   fhape,   the 

awful  Nevermore  ! 

VIII. 
I. 

Nevermore?     The  dream  was  idle  !     Even  (lumber 

can  deceive, 
If  it  meant  not,  (ftill  deceiving!)  that  I  nevermore 

can  grieve  : 
But  perchance  I  heard  it  wrongly,  as  I  drifted  from 

the  more  j 


SONGS    OF    SUMMER.  213 

'Twas  not  Never  ^  only  Ever — only  Ever^  Evermore! 
With  your  hand   in   mine,   I  think  so  ;    from  your 

kisses,  dear,  I  know  it ; 
Sleeping  in  your  fond  embraces  will  assure,  and 

set  the  seal : 
If  there  be   a   deeper   knowledge,   I   am  willing  to 

forego  it, 

Deeper  raptures,  I  renounce  them,  so  divine  are 
those  I  feel ! 

2. 

Every  moment  of  exiftence  since  we  met  comes  up 

before  me; 
Waves  of  dim  remembered  feeling,  seas  of  memory 

sweeping  o'er  me: 
By  the  sea,  as   now,  my  darling!  by  the  very  sea 

that  lies 
Pallid  in  the  moonlight  yonder,  with  the  wonder  in 

its  eyes  ; 
In  this  very  bridal  chamber  did  we  lift,  as  now,  the 

veil, 
And  reveal  our  inmoft  natures,  both  so  beautiful  and 

pale! 
When  I  said  "  my  youth  is  wafted,"  when  I  moaned 

"  my  manhood  dies  !  " 
When  I  wept  "  I  love  you,  lady!  "  and  awaited  your 

replies, 
You  but  clutched  my  hand  the  closer,  you  but  seized 

me  by  the  arm, 


214  SONGS    OF    SUMMER. 

As  if  you  would  pull  me  to  you,  or  would  hurry  me 
from  harm  : 

(Were  you  thinking  of  the  ocean  ?  were  you  tramp 
ing  in  the  sand?) 

But  I  underftood  the  geflure,  my  heart  clenched  you 
like  a  hand ; 

Clenched  you  with  a  hand  of  iron,  either  to  possess 
you  there, 

Or  to  plunge  you  in  the  ocean  of  its  old  and  new 
despair ! 

Then  I  rose  and  paced  the  chamber,  scarcely  know 
ing  where  I  trod, 

Very  daring  in  my   curses,  very  humble   in   my 
prayers ; 

Now  a  demon,  now  a  god, 

And  you  paced  with  like  emotion  in  my  footfteps 
unawares ! 

3- 

Paft  the  night  in  troubled  visions,  came  the  morn, 

but  came  as  calm 
As  the   Sabbath   days    in   Eden,   and  we  walked 

along  the  more ; 

Silent  where  the  solemn  ocean  poured  his  everlafting 
psalm, 

But  our  spirits  talked  the  more ! 
And  at  noon  in  summer  quiet  at  your  feet  I  read  my 
songs, 


SONGS    OF    SUMMER.  2  15 

Trailing  in   my  hand    your  tresses,   which   were 

dearer  songs  to  me  ; 

And  you  praised  me,   gave   me,  sweeteft,  what  to 
Poesy  belongs  — 

Kisses,  where  the  crown  mould  be  ! 
Now  my  nature  fell  before  you,  in  proftration  new 

and  sweet, 
Kissed  the  hem  of  your  white  garment,  and  your 

spirit's  whiter  feet ; 
Then  rose  up  like  one  in  frenzy,  in  the  fever-throbs 

of  pain, 
And  devoured  you  with  its   glances,  in  a  passionate 

disdain ! 
Love  ?  and  wherefore  ?  what  the  end  ?     Hands  may 

meet,  and  thoughts  may  blend, 
But  our  lives   are   separated  :    there's   a  yawning 

gulf  between  ; 

Yet  I  know  not,  youth  is  flying :  you  are  wafting, 
I  am  dying ; 

Loving,  what  mould  intervene  ? 
Lay  your  head  upon  my  bosom,  where  a  falling  kiss 

may  find  it ; 

Knit   your   fingers    now   in    mine,    love,    and    in 
silentness  remain  ; 

If  I  suffer,  never  mind  it, 

Be  you   happy,    fool  your  fancy ;  we  can  both   be 
wise  again  ! 


2l6  SONGS    OF    SUMMER. 

Now.)  the  only  wisdom's  loving ;    parting  now  the 

only  pain  ! 
Lift  your  face,  and  let  me  kiss  it,  from  your  brow 

and  cheek  so  pale, 
Wandering  to  your  mouth,  beloved,  where  I  hang 

with  flifled  breath  ; 

Draining  all  its  hoard  of  sweetness,  till  in  utter  bliss 
I  fail, 

Dropping  from  you,  nigh  to  Death ! 

4- 
But  that  morning  when  we  parted — ah!  what  agony 

and  pain! 
Worlds  on   worlds   would  never   tempt   me   to   be 

tortured  so  again  ! 
Still  within  this  very  chamber,  where  yon  window 

clips  the  moon, 
(But  the  fky  was  bright  with  sunlight,  and  the  air 

was  warm  with  June !) 
There  we  flood  that  fatal  morning,  with  such  horrid 

aches  of  heart, 
Bent  on  parting,  but  unwilling,  nay,  unable,  love, 

to  part, 
Till  I  tore  you  from  my  bosom,  flung  you  off,  I  know 

not  where, 
Rufhing  in  the  mocking  sunlight,   and  the  cursed, 

cursed  air. 


SONGS    OF    SUMMER.  2 IJ 

Where  my  tortures  seemed  to  rise, 

Growing  from  my  heart  in  mountains  till  they  over 
topped  the  ikies ! 

Then  the  dull  reaction  followed,  settling  on  my 
barren  brain, 

Like  a  dreary  day  in  autumn  on  a  weary  wafte  of 
plain  : 

Every  thing  was  fhrouded  to  me  :  Joy  herself,  on 
such  a  day, 

Mufl  have  come  to  me  like  Sorrow,  in  her  livery  of 
gray! 

5- 

What  will  now  become  of  me  ?     You  are  yonder  by 

the  sea 
Pining,  (are  you  not,  beloved?)  I   am  in  the  sea 

of  men  ; 
You  have  friends,  a  {lately  birth  :  I  am  all  alone  on 

earth  ; 
Leagues,  and  poverty  between  us,  will  you  think 

of  me  again  ? 
Everywhere,  in  Art  and  Nature,  you  diffuse  your  soul 

around ; 
In   the  books   I  read  no  longer,  blurring  all  the 

mifty  lines ; 
In  the  heavenly  sea  of  music  freighted  with  a  richer 

sound ; 

In  the  sunlight,  in  the  moonlight,  and  in  every 
ftar  that  mines  : 


21  8  SONGS    OF    SUMMER. 

And  when  midnight  tempefts  gather  I  behold  you 

in  the  gloom, 
Rufhirfg  through  the  fiery  darkness,  in  a  cloud  of 

whiteft  light ; 

And  mine  arms  ftrike  out  like  lightnings,  to  embrace 
you,  and  consume, 

But  I  only  grasp  the  night ! 
Yet  methinks,  such  links  have  bound  you,  and    so 

far  my  passion  flies, 

You  mujl  feel  my  arms  around  you,  arid  muft  see  my 
burning  eyes ! 

6. 
Yes,  and  when,  as  now,  the  moonlight  through  the 

snowy  curtain  falls, 
Creeps   upon  the  tufted  carpet  in  a  diamond  flab 

of  panes, 

Sleeps  amid  the  lilac  fhadows  waving  on  the  dreamy 
walls, 

Still  my  soul  with  you  remains ! 
Bends  above  you  as  you  {lumber  in  your  chaftity 

apart, 

Smooths  the  tresses  from  your  forehead,  lifts  the 
cross  from  off  your  breaft, 

And  lies  down  upon  your  heart, 

In  a  perfect,  perfecl:  reft ! 

Else  within  my  little  chamber,  in  a  dream,  I  see  you 
ftand, 


SONGS    OF    SUMMER.  2IQ 

With  a  rose-bud  in  your  bosom,  and  a  lily  in  your 

hand  ; 
Gliding  to   my  warm  embraces,  in  my  loving  breaft 

you  creep, 
Till  I  wake,  and   find  you  vanifhed  in  the  Paradise 

of  Sleep ! 

Sleeping,  you  rejoin  me  soon  : 
We  are  dead,  are  spirits  only ;  climb  the  viewless 

rounds  of  air ; 
Full  to  heaven  your  brow  is  lifted,  like  the  crescent 

of  the  moon. 
While  your  eyes  are  yearning  earthward  through  the 

{hadows  of  your  hair! 
And  you  kiss  my  tearful   eyelids  as  we   climb   the 

ftarry  deep, 
For  I  fall  in  utter  sorrow,  dear  one,  on  your  neck, 

and  weep ! 

7- 

Oh !    what    letters    passed    between    us,    and    what 

subtle  thrills  they  woke  ! 
Had  we  not  fulfilled  them  wholly,  why,  our  very 

hearts  had  broke  ! 
For  myself,  they  were  my  being,  and  to-night  I  had 

not  been, 
Save  but  for  your  letters,  sweeteft,  and  the  sweeteft 

love  therein ! 
Kisses  on  the  superscription,  fingers  trembling  in  the 

seal, 


22O  SONGS    OF    SUMMER. 

Broken  with  the  hafte  of  passion,  and  with  pas 
sion's  secret  fear ; 
Even    the    simple    writing    thrilled    me,    made    my 

dazzled  senses  reel, 
While   I  flowly  wrung  its  meaning,  never  at  the 

moment  clear : 

Hanging  on  the  lighted  phrases,  as  a  lover  only  can, 
Sounding  all  the  deeps  of  feeling,  I  grew  more  and 

more  a  man! 
Daily,  hourly  to  the   eaftward,  to  the  margin  of  the 

sea, 
Did  I   breathe  divineft  kisses,  did  I  send  my  soul  to 

thee  ; 
And   my  kisses  met  their  sifters,  your  dear  kisses, 

everywhere, 
Nay,  myself,  I  seemed  to  meet  them,  felt  your  warm 

lips  pursed  in  air ! 


But  that  night,  can  I  forget  it  ?  that  delicious  night 

in  spring, 
When  we  pledged   our  hands,  so  hopeless,  where 

our  hearts  were  pledged  before, 
When    we    gave  ourselves,  undaunted,    to    each 

other,  evermore, 

Into  Love's  serene  dominions  soaring  as  with  angel 
wing! 


SONGS    OF    SUMMER.  221 

Not  for  us   the  shade  and  silence  the  betrothal  hour 

demands ; 
Round  us  buzzed  the  idle  talkers,  o'er  us  blazed 

the  chandeliers  ; 
There  was  nothing  to  the  seeming  in  our  interchange 

of  hands, 
But  it  cancelled  all  the  sorrow  of  our  separated 

years  ! 
Flushed  with  passion  and  ambition,  when  I  left  you 

there  alone, 
Through  the  silent  city  moving,  in   the  fleeping 

ftreets  apart, 
Redded   roses    bloomed  before    me,   over    me    the 

morning  shone, 

Marching  to   the   {lately   music   of  my  own   tri 
umphant  heart : 

Splendors  on  my  brow  and  face, 
Heaven  itself  rose  up  before  me,  as  the  great  world 
dipped  in  space! 

9- 
Then    our    hours    of  ftolen    sweetness,    with    their 

maddening  incompleteness  ; 
Both  so  loath  and  yet  so   eager,  souls  of  mingled 

snow  and  fire  ; 

Each  its  cup  of  passion  filling,  then  in  duft  the  nectar 
spilling, 


222  SONGS    OF    SUMMER. 

Though  a  burning  thirft  consumed  us,  and  a  fever 

of  desire  ! 
Often  in   my  little   chamber  at  your  feet  I  knelt  in 

prayer, 
With  my  clasped  hands  imploring,  till  you  raised 

me  from  your  feet ; 
Then  I  hid  within  your  bosom,  and  unlooped  your 

falling  hair, 
While  your  arms  were   locked  around   me,  till  I 

felt  their  pulses  beat ! 
With  a  kiss  upon  my  eyelids,  and  a  mift  within  my 

eyes, 
Fixed   on  yours   in    fleeping  passion,   I   returned 

your  sweet  embrace  ; 
And  my  heart  leaped  up  within  me  in  a  sudden  rtorm 

of  sighs, 
And  I  poured  a  rain  of  kisses  on  your  brow,  and 

eyes,  and  face  ! 
Then,  your  white  throat  in  my  fingers,  and  a  tingling 

in  their  tips, 
Wild  with  love  I  fattened  on  you,  and  I  grew  around 

your  lips  ; 

Every  atom  of  my  body  felt  the  hunger  of  my  heart, 
I  was  mad  to  crush,  and  kill  you,  and  to  tear  your 
limbs  apart! 

10. 

But  all  this,  the  joy  and  glory  of  my  glad  exulting 
spirit, 


SONGS    OF    SUMMER.  223 

Was  as  nothing  to  the  morning  when  we  flood  so 

meek  and  grand, 

In  the  chapel,  hand  in  hand, 
Each    the    vaft   "/  will!"    responding  where    the 

blessed  God  might  hear  it! 
Nor  was  that,  although  it  raised  us  to  the  very  gates 

of  light, 
Half  so  lofty,  and   so  holy,  as  our  wedded  love  to 

night ; 
Sitting  in  the  happy  silence,  with  our  hands  together 

preit, 
I  caress  you,  wife,  and  bless  you,  as  you  lie  upon  my 

breaft ; 
Dreaming  in  our  bridal  chamber,  in  the  sainted  moon 

afleep, 

With  the  starry  spaces  o'er  us,  and  before  the  listen 
ing  deep, 

Till  we  turn  to  God  above, 

And  demand  a  benediction  —  "FATHER!  LOVE  us, 
FOR  WE  LOVE!" 

1853- 


224  SONGS    OF    SUMMER. 


I  LAY  his  pi&ure  on  my  knee, 
The  knee  he  loves  to  sit  upon  ; 
It  is  the  image  of  my  son, 

And,  like  the  child,  a  world  to  me. 

He  fronts  me  in  a  little  chair, 

In  careless  ease,  and  quiet  grace, 
A  courtly  deference  in  his  face, 

A  glory  in  his  shining  hair : 

An  infant  prince,  a  baby  king, 
To  whom  his  minifters  relate 
Some  intricate  affair  of  state  : 

He  hears,  and  weighs  the  smalleft  thing. 

Not  twice  has  summer  come  and  gone 
Since  he  was  born,  a  summer-child  ; 
Two  Junes  have  on  his  cradle  smiled, 

A  rose  of  June  without  a  thorn. 


SONGS    OF    SUMMER.  225 

I  flood  beside  his  mother's  bed 

When  he  was  born,  at  dead  of  night ; 
My  heart  grew  faint  with  its  delight ; 

I  heard  his  cry  :  he  was  not  dead  ! 

And  (he,  his  mother,  dearer  far 

Than  this  poor  life  of  mine  can  be, 
She  lives  :   me  weeps  :   fhe  clings  to  me, 

Her  dim  eye  brightening  like  a  ftar ! 

We  heard  his  low  uncertain  moan ; 
In  both  our  souls  it  smote  a  chord 
Not  reached  by  Love's  divineft  word  ; 

It  ftirred,  and  ftirs  to  him  alone. 

"  We  have  a  child!  "     We  smiled  and  wept ; 
He  flept :  God's  Angel  in  the  dark 
Pufhed  down  the  ftream  his  little  bark, 

And  with  it  ours :  with  him  we  flept. 

At  laft  the  lingering  summer  passed ; 
The  summer  passed,  the  autumn  came, 
The  dying  woods  were  all  a-flame, 

The  leaves  were  whirling  in  the  blaft  : 

He  lived;  our  loving  spirits  wore 
A  royal  diadem  of  joy  ; 
15 


226  SONGS    OF    SUMMER. 

Time  laid  his  hands  upon  the  boy, 
And  day  by  day  he  ripened  more. 

His  dreamy  eye  grew  like  the  fky, 
A  liquid  blue,  half  dark,  half  bright ; 
Now  like  the  noon,  and  now  like  night, 

With  silver  planets  sown  on  high : 

His  thin  white  ringlets  turn  to  gold, 
And  gleam  like  suns  on  autumn  eves  ; 
Or  like  the  sober  autumn  fheaves, 

Whose  ftrawy  fires  are  faint  and  cold. 

His  noble  brow,  his  placid  look, 

The  subtle  sweetness  of  his  smile  — 
They  touch,  but  fly  my  simple  ftyle ; 

The  child  is  like  a  Poet's  book : 

A  rare  conception,  richly  planned ; 
Harmonious,  perfect  in  its  parts  : 
Going  ftraight  home  to  all  men's  hearts, 

An  easy  thing  to  underftand  ! 

Sweet  wife  !  we  underftand  the  child  ; 
We  know  that  he  is  fair  and  good  : 
As  good  as  fair  :  no  vice  of  blood 

To  mar  him  :  neither  weak,  nor  wild. 


SONGS    OF    SUMMER.  227 

I  take  his  pi&ure  from  my  knee, 

And  press  it  to  my  lips  again : 

I  see  an  hundred  in  my  brain, 
And  all  of  him,  and  dear  to  me. 

He  nettles  in  his  nurse's  arms, 

His  young  eyes  winking  in  the  light : 
I  hear  his  sudden  fhriek  at  night, 

Startled  in  dreams  by  vague  alarms ; 

We  walk  the  floor,  and  hum  his  moan  ; 

Again  he  fleeps  :  we  kiss  his  brow. 

I  toss  him  on  my  fhoulder  now, 
His  Majefty  is  on  the  throne! 

His  kingly  clutch  is  in  my  hair ; 

He  sees  a  rival  in  the  glass  : 

It  flares,  and  passes  as  we  pass ; 
It  fades.     I  breathe  the  country  air : 

I  see  a  cottage  leagues  from  here ; 

A  garden  near  ;  some  orchard  trees  : 

A  leafy  glimpse  of  creeping  seas  ; 
And  in  the  cottage  something  dear : 

A  square  of  sunlight  on  the  floor, 

Blocked  from  the  window ;  in  the  square 


228  SONGS    OF    SUMMER. 

A  happy  child  with  heavenly  hair, 
To  whom  the  world  is  more  and  more. 


He  sees  the  blue  fly  beat  the  pane, 
Buzzing  away  the  noon-tide  hours  ; 
The  terrace  grass,  the  scattered  flowers, 

The  beetles,  and  the  beads  of  rain  : 

He  sees  the  gravelled  walk  below, 

The  narrow  arbor  draped  with  vines  ; 
The  light  that  like  an  emerald  fhines, 

The  small  bird  hopping  to  and  fro. 

He  drinks  their  linked  beauty  in ; 

They,  fill  his  thought  with  silent  joy  : 
But  now  he  spies  a  late-dropped  toy, 

And  all  his  noisy  pranks  begin. 

They  bear  him  to  an  upper  room, 

When  comes  the  eve  ;  he  hums  for  me, 
Like  some  voluptuous  drowsy  bee, 

That  fhuts  his  wings  in  honied  gloom. 

I  see  a  fhadow  in  a  chair ; 

I  see  a  fhadowy  cradle  go  ; 

I  hear  a  ditty,  soft  and  low  : 
The  mother  and  the  child  are  there  ! 


SONGS    OF    SUMMER. 

At  length  the  balm  of  fleep  is  fhed  ; 
One  bed  contains  my  bud  and  flower  : 
They  fleep,  and  dream,  and  hour  by  hour 

Goes  by,  while  angels  watch  the  bed. 

Sleep  on,  and  dream,  ye  blessed  pair  ! 

My  prayers  mail  guard  ye  night  and  day  ; 

Ye  guard  me  so,  ye  make  me  pray  : 
Ye  make  my  happy  life  a  prayer  ! 

Dream  on  !  dream  on  !  and  in  your  dreams 
Remember  me  j  I  love  ye  well  : 
I  love  ye  more  than  tongue  can  tell, 

Dear  Souls  !  and  ere  the  mornin    beams 


My  soul  (hall  ftrike  your  trail  of  fleep, 
In  some  enchanted,  holy  place, 
And  fold  ye  in  a  fond  embrace, 

And  kiss  ye  till  with  bliss  1  weep  ! 
1856. 


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